lE-UNIVERSjfc, 


£ 

knvaan-i^ 


THE 


ELM    TREE    TALES. 


BY 

F.   IRENE    BURGE    SMITH 


Little  know  they  who  dwell  'mid  rural  shades, 
Of  life's  great  struggles.    Poverty  and  waut 
In  direst  forms,  are  never  seen,  where  bloom 
And  verdure  revel,  but  within  the  dark 
And  loathesome  cellars  of  the  crowded  town, 
They  hide  their  tattered  forms. 


NEW    YORK: 
MASON      BROTHERS. 

1  8  5  0 . 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 

MASON    BROTHERS, 
IB  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court,  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York 


STEREOTYPED  BT  PRINTED    BT 

THOMAS   B.   SMITH,  JOHN  A.  GRAT, 

82  &  Si  Beekman  Street  97  Cliff  St. 


PREFACE. 


"  There  is  a  wisdom  in  calling  a  thing  fitly.    Names  should  note  particulars." 
— PROVERBIAL  PHILOSOPHY. 

To  make  the  title  of  this  book  significant  to 
you,  I  must  transport  you  to  a  sylvan  nook,  far 
from  the  city's  boundaries,  where  an  old  stone  cot 
tage  peeps  forth  from  the  thick  foliage.  Down 
through  the  maple  avenue  you  will  take  your 
pleasant  route,  past  the  willow  and  alder  clumps, 
and  the  ancient  mill,  that  hangs  its  idle  arms  list 
lessly  by  its  sides — on  and  on,  over  the  little  style, 
and  the  rustic  bridge,  which  spans  the  rivulet, 
until  you  reach  the  giant  elm  that  spreads  its 
broad  branches  far  and  wide.  Books  and  work  are 
scattered  about  on  the  verdant  turf,  bright  flowers 
peep  forth  from  amid  the  green,  and  many  a  fair 
face  greets  you  with  its  frank  and  cordial  wel 
come.  The  sky  is  very  blue  and  clear,  and  the 
summer's  breath  comes  refreshingly  to  you  through 


VI  *  P  KEF  ACE. 

the  leafy  screen,  as  you  seat  yourself  upon  a  mossy 
stone  and  join  in  the  merriments  of  the  happy 
circle  gathered  there.  But  you  are  quite  too  late 
for  the  manuscript  volume  which  a  guest  from  the 
city  has  been  reading  aloud  for  the  amusement  of 
the  group. 

Perhaps  you  have  lost  nothing,  however.  I  have 
obtained  permission  to  give  it  you  for  a  more  leis 
urely  perusal.  I  hope  it  will  please  you. 

When  a  stranger  goes  to  your  door  seeking  your 
regard  and  patronage,  you  naturally  look  for  some 
note  of  introduction,  which  generally  reads  some 
what  after  this  fashion : 

"  Any  attentions  you  may  bestow  upon  my 
friend  ,  will  confer  an  especial  favor  upon 

"  Yours  truly, 


BROOKLYN,  October  27, 1S55. 


THE    ELM-TREE    TALES. 


JENNIE  GRIGG: 

THE 

S  T  R  E  E  T  -  S  \V  E  E  P  E  R . 


NANNIE  BATES: 


HUCKSTER'S      DAUQHTER 


ARCHIBALD  MACKIE: 


LITTLE     CRIPPLE. 


JENNIE    GRIG, 

THE      STREET      SWEEPER; 


OB    THE 


VICISSITUDES   OF   LIFE. 


JENNIE     GRIG, 


CHAPTER  I. 

POOR  little  girl !  How  sadly  came  her  wailing  tones  on 
the  frosty  air,  while  the  multitudes  that  hurried  past  were 
hidden  from  the  chilling  blasts  by  warm  and  furry  garments ! 

There  were  some  humane  ones  who  lifted  her  softly  from 
the  ground,  and  bore  her  carefully  to  the  nearest  apothe 
cary's,  to  examine  the  extent  of  her  injuries — and  a  slight 
figure  clad  in  the  deepest  weeds,  followed  after  and  held  the 
child's  hand,  and  bathed  her  forehead,  while  the  surgeon 
bound  up  the  broken  limb. 

"  She  was  such  a  pinched  wee  thing  to  be  sweeping  those 
dangerous  crossings,"  said  the  lady;  "no  wonder  the 
heedless  crowd  jostled  her  down,  and  nearly  crushed  her 
tiny  body." 

"  Is  not  her  consciousness  returning,  doctor  ?"  continued 
she,  addressing  the  surgeon,  as  a  slight  flush  was  beginning 
to  be  perceptible  upon  the  little  girl's  cheek. 

The  child  had  lain  in  a  kind  of  stupor  from  the  time  of 
the  accident,  and  now,  as  her  dark  eyes  slowly  opened,  she 
gazed  faintly  upon  the  curious  faces  that  were  gathered 


12  JENNIE     GRIG. 

around  her,  until  she  met  the  sweet  yet  sorrowful  glance 
of  the  strange  lady — then,  bursting  forth  into  a  wild  and 
bitter  sobbing,  she  cried,  "  Who  now  will  help  my  poor 
weak  mother,  and  my  sick  and  dying  father  ! — nine  pennies 
only  have  I  earned  to-day,  and  all  is  lost  in  the  muddy 
street — oh !  who  will  get  them  bread  and  coals,  now  their 
Jennie  can  not  work !" 

• 

"  God  will  provide,  only  trust  Him,  poor  child,"  said  the 
kind  lady,  as  she  wiped  the  tears  that  had  moistened  her 
own  eyes  at  sight  of  the  child's  grief. 

"  Where  do  your  parents  live,  my  little  girl,"  asked  the 
benevolent  surgeon — "we  must  be  getting  you  home,  or 
they  will  be  anxious  about  you  now  that  the  night  is 
coming  on." 

The  child  started  as  she  heard  the  word  " home"  and 
blushing  the  deepest  crimson,  replied,  "  If  you  please,  sir,  I 
am  able  to  walk  now,  and  will  go  alone,  for  dear  mamma 
would  be  angry  if  I  had  strangers  with  me — she  never 
sees  any  one  but  father,  now." 

'"T  would  be  madness  to  send  her  forth  into  this  wintery 
air  with  a  newly  broken  arm,"  said  the  lady — "  if  you  will 
come  with  me,  little  Jennie,  we  will  soon  satisfy  your 
parents  that  you  are  in  comfortable  quarters,  my  carriage 
is  at  the  door,  and  John  shall  go  alone  to  your  home  with 
a  message" — and,  calling  her  servant,  she  bade  him  bring 
one  of  the  soft  robes  from  the  carriage,  and  wrapping  it 
closely  about  the  shivering  child,  she  had  her  conveyed  to 
her  own  noble  home. 


CHAPTER  II. 

UP,  up,  up  till  you  reached  the  very  topmost  room  in  a 

rickety  building  in  street,  and  there  they  were — a 

woman  in  neat  but  coarse  raiment,  seated  by  a  flickering 
candle,  stitching  for  the  life,  and  with  every  effort  for  the 
life,  stitching  out  the  life.  Near  her,  on  a  lowly  bed,  lay 
her  suffering  husband,  watching  the  wan  fingers  as  they 
busily  plied  for  him  who  would  fain  have  spent  his  last 
strength  for  their  rest. 

The  frosty  breath  of  a  December  night  came  through 
the  chinks  in  the  roof,  and  around  the  windows,  and  left 
its  bitter  impress  upon  the  sick  and  weary.  A  few  coals 
partially  ignited,  seemed  to  mock  at  the  visions  of  warmth 
and  comfort  they  inspired,  and  the  simmering  of  the  kettle 
that  hung  low  over  the  coals,  made  the  absence  of  a  cheery 
board,  and  a  happy  group  around  it  only  the  more  pain 
fully  apparent. 

The  sick  man  closed  his  eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out  the 
memory  of  those  wasted  fingers  that  were  ever  so  zealously 
moving,  and  then  looking  wistfully  at  the  murmuring 
kettle,  he  said,  "  Has  not  the  child  come  yet,  Mary  ? — per 
haps  she  has  enough  for  our  scanty  meal  to-night,  and  yet 


14  JENNIE     GRIG. 

my  heart  misgives  me  on  her  account — is  it  not  very  late 
for  her  to  stay  away  ?  She  is  such  a  timid  little  thing,  and 
always  flies  to  us  before  the  darkness  begins  to  come! 
Her's  is  a  cruel  age,  and  a  loathsome  employment. 
Would  God  I  had  died,  Mary,  ere  it  had  come  to  this  !" — 
and  the  poor  man  hid  his  face  in  the  bedclothes,  and 
moaned  like  a  stricken  child.  The  patient  wife  laid  aside 
her  work,  and  taking  the  well-worn  Bible  from  its  sacred 
resting-place,  read  to  him  the  thirty-seventh  Psalm — then 
rising  and  going  to  the  window,  she  pressed  her  ear  against 
the  pane,  and  listened  for  her  Jennie's  coming.  Hark  !  a 
step  is  on  the  stairs  !  The  husband  and  wife  both  started 
— it  was  a  heavy,  lumbering  tread — not  the  soft  foot-falls 
of  their  gentle  little  one,  that  brought  music  even  to  their 
dismal  abode : 

"  Some  one  is  knocking,  Mary,"  said  the  husband,  and, 
as  he  spoke,  the  door  opened,  and  a  man  appeared  with  a 
note  and  a  basket. 

"Is  Mrs.  Grig  here,"   asked   the  man. 

"  That  is  my  name,"  replied  the  frightened  woman  whose 
maternal  heart  immediately  suggested  that  something  had 
happened  to  her  child. 

"  Tell  me  of  my  darling.  Is  she  hurt  ?  Is  she  dead  ?" 
— then  seizing  the  note  which  the  servant  held  out  to  her 
she  read  as  follows  : 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grig  must  not  be  alarmed  about  their 
little  Jennie.  She  has  met  with  a  slight  accident ;  but  her 


JENNIE     GRIG.  15 

life  is  not  endangered,  and  she  is  where  every  attention  will 
be  bestowed  upon  her.  If  they  will  spare  her  to  me  until 
she  is  wholly  restored,  they  will  confer  the  greatest  of 
favors  upon  their  friend, 

"HELENA  DUNMORE. 

"I  send  a  few  delicacies,  which  I  hope  her  sick  father 
will  relish.  Jennie  wishes  to  see  her  mother  before  she 
sleeps,  will  she  come  to  her  an  hour  this  evening  1" 

The  servant  left  the  name  of  the  street,  and  the  number 
of  the  house  where  his  mistress  lived,  and  departed,  with 
an  humble  reverence,  for  there  was  an  innate  aristocracy  in 
Mrs.  Grig  that  commanded  the  respect  of  all  who  saw  her, 
even  though  the  vicissitudes  of  life  had  robbed  her  of  the 
external  marks  of  rank  and  elegance.  "  God  be  praised  P 
said  she,  as  she  pressed  her  lips  to  the  pale  brow  of  her 
now  hopeful  husband,  "  Our  house  is  not  left  unto  us  deso 
late,  neither  has  our  Father  forsaken  us  in  our  time  of 
necessity.  Surely  He  giveth  bread  to  the  hungry,  and 
filleth  the  fainting  soul  with  gladness !"  Then  spreading 
the  tempting  viands  before  the  famished  invalid,  she  smiled 
with  the  cheerfulness  of  her  earlier  days,  as  she  saw  with 
what  relish  he  ate  and  drank. 

"When  they  had  finished  their  unexpected,  but  welcome 
meal,  she  placed  the  fragments  carefully  away,  and  blow 
ing  out  the  light,  which  she  must  save  for  her  midnight 
toils,  she  left  the  house  in  order  to  seek  her  child. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  stars  were  shining  tranquilly,  and  the  moon  looked 
calmly  down  upon  the  great  and  noisy  city,  imparting  their 
quietness  and  peace  to  the  heart  of  the  eager  mother  who 
threaded  her  way  to  her  sick  child.  Long  and  tedious 
was  the  distance,  but  she  felt  it  not,  excepting  that  she 
shrunk  from  the  rough  contact  of  brawling  and  wicked 
men,  who  rudely  pushed  past  her,  as  they  hurried  on  to 
their  nightly  debauches. 

Oh !  how  sensitive  was  she  then  to  the  thought  of  the 
horrors  that  ever  threaten  the  innocent  and  unprotected,  if 
forced  by  their  sad  necessity  to  encounter  the  vile  and 
polluted ! — and  how  resolutely  did  she  determine  thence 
forth  to  shield  the  child  of  her  love  from  all  such  dangers, 
even  though  her  own  life  were  the  forfeit  of  her  care. 

She  gazed  upward  into  the  clear  heavens,  as  if  to  gather 
strength  for  her  future  trials,  and  then  pressing  quickly  on, 
was  soon  in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Dunmore.  The  transition 
from  her  own  dreary  room  to  the  luxurious  and  tasteful 
apartment  where  she  now  found  herself,  was  so  completely 
bewildering,  that  she  stood  for  a  moment,  as  if  in  a  strange 
and  mysterious  dream.  Every  thing  that  taste  could 


JENNIE    GRIG.  17 

desire,  or  wealth  procure,  was  lavished  upon  this  sanctum, 
where  Mrs.  Dunmore,  since  her  double  bereavement,  found 
her  chief  delight — yet  amid  all  the  splendor  of  the  place, 
were  tokens  of  that  presence  from  which  naught  can 
exempt  us. 

A  little  portrait  draped  in  black,  hung  above  a  crimson 
couch,  whereon  lay  a  child  of  exquisite  beauty.  Her  tiny 
form  was  wrapped  in  the  purest  muslin,  and  a  light  blue 
cashmere  shawl  was  thrown  negligently  over  her.  One 
little  foot,  encased  in  a  delicate  slipper,  hung  over  the  edge 
of  the  couch,  and  her  long  dark  curls  fell  about  the  pillow 
in  the  richest  profusion. 

In  one  hand  she  held  a  pretty  vinaigrette,  and  the  other 
was  bound  in  soft  cloths,  and  slightly  confined  to  her  waist 
by  a  silkeji  sash.  As  the  door  of  the  room  opened,  she 
flung  off  the  shawl  that  covered  her,  and  tried  to  rise ; 
but  the  effort  was  too  much  for  her  exhausted  frame,  and 
she  fell  faintly  back,  murmuring  "  Mother,  dearest  mother !" 

In  one  moment  the  poor  woman  was  kneeling  beside  the 
couch,  clasping  the  sweet  child  to  her  bosom,  who  with  her 
one  little  arm  girdled  that  sacred  neck,  and  with  smiles 
and  kisses  awakened  her  to  a  perfect  consciousness  of  her 
safety  and  of  her  happy  position. 

Mrs.  Dunmore  had  all  this  time  been  partially  concealed 
by  the  drapery  of  the  window,  but  as  she  moved  from  the 
recess  Jennie's  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  her  step,  and 
she  whispered  to  her  mother,  who  arose,  and  with  some 
confusion  at  the  novelty  of  her  situation  and  the  meanness 


18  JENNIE     GRIG. 

of  her  attire,  advanced  to  meet  the  gentle  widow,  saying, 
"  Jennie  tells  me  you  are  the  kind  lady  who  befriended  her 
in  her  distress — I  have  not  words  to  thank  you,  dear  madam, 
for  your  pity,  and  care  for  my  unfortunate  child ;  but  if 
the  prayers  of  an  earnest  heart  will  avail  before  God,  the 
choicest  of  Heaven's  blessings  shall  be  your  reward." 

"  A  glance  at  that  portrait,"  said  Mrs.  Dunmore,  "  will 
betray  to  you  the  motive  for  any  unwonted  interest  in  your 
precious  child ;  but  were  it  simply  a  humane  act,  the 
thought  of  having  performed  one's  duty  is  a  sufficient  rec 
ompense — still,  I  ask  another,  and  that  is,  that  your  little 
one  may  supply  to  me  the  place  of  my  darling  '  Bella.'  I 
know,"  continued  she,  as  she  noticed  the  flush  upon  the 
mother's  face,  and  the  increased  pulsations  of  her  heart, 
"how  great  a  sacrifice  I  ask,  and  I  can  not  press  you  to  give 
up  your  own  right  over  the  treasure  God  has  bestowed 
upon  you ;  but  I  would  so  far  share  that  blessing  with  you, 
as  to  keep  your  little  Jennie  always  near  me,  and  to  assist 
you  in  your  care  for  her  comfort  and  advancement." 

Mrs.  Grig  was  struck  with  the  delicacy  and  refinement 
of  Mrs.  Dunmore's  manner  toward  her ;  instead  of  bluntly 
offering  to  adopt  her  child,  with  the  evident  feeling  that 
it  was  too  good  a  bargain  to  require  a  moment's  wav 
ering,  she  proposed  it  to  her  in  the  light  of  a  favor  con 
ferred  upon  herself,  and  in  which  they  would  both  ever 
have  a  mutual  interest.  The  poor  woman  could  not  see 
'  that  her  own  apparent  good  breeding  had — in  Mrs.  Dun 
more's  estimation — diminished  the  distance  in  their  rela- 


JENNIE     CiEIG.  19 

tive  positions,  so  that  a  free  and  full  sympathy  was  com 
patible  with  her  dignity,  as  well  as  the  dictate  of  her  heart. 
She  looked  upon  her  child  as  she  lay- there,  in  her  now 
adorned  loveliness ;  she  gazed  about  the  room  so  filled 
with  comfort  and  delight,  and  as  her  thoughts  wandered 
from  these  blessings  to  her  own  cheerless  home,  and  to 
the  past  few  months  of  destitution ;  and  as  visions  of 
weary  days  of  toil,  and  nights  of  cold  and  hunger  and 
wretchedness,  and  the  shadow  of  that  lovely  little  one  re 
turning  from  her  loathsome  labors,  with  muddy  garments, 
and  a  worn  and  saddened  face,  passed  before  her,  she 
shrunk  from  the  latter  alternative,  and  placing  the  hand  of 
her  child  in  that  of  her  adopted  mother  she  said,  with  the 
calmness  of  a  settled  purpose — "  It  will  make  a  sad  void  in 
our  desolate  home,  but  God  has  opened  your  heart  to  her 
before  she  is  left  alone,  and  His  goodness  shall  be  my  con 
stant  theme  of  gratitude ;  you  will  allow  her  to  come  to  us 
every  day  while  her  poor  father  foes ;  his  pains  will  be 
lightened  by  her  presence,  anjp^t  wili%3mfort  me  to  see  the 
eyes  that  have  beamed  upon  me  these  nine  long  years, 
more  joyously  beaming  as  I  hasten  to  the  end  of  my  pil 
grimage.  You  will  love  this  kind  lady,  will  you  not,  my 
child  ?"  said  she  to  the  little  girl,  by  whom  she  was  again 
kneeling — "  and  be  to  her  a  dear  and  dutiful  daughter,  if 
you  would  please  your  own  parents." 

"  Love  her,  dear  mother  ?     Who  could  help  loving  ti 
beautiful  and  kind,  and  good ! — and  is  she  not  beautiful, 
and  has  she  not  been  kind  and  good  to  me  when  others 


20  JENNIE    GRIG. 

did  but  rail  at  me,  and  jostle  me  down  in  the  crowded 
street !  Oh !  yes,  I '  will  indeed  love  her,  very,  very 
dearly  !"  and  she  clung  to  the  hand  of  the  widow  that  held 
her  own,  and  caressingly  fondled  and  kissed  it,  until  her 
mother  laid  her  gently  back  upon  her  pillow,  and  arose  to 
return  to  her  home. 


- 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  sick  husband  lay  watching  the  moonbeams  as  they 
came  through  the  window  and  played  fantastically  upon 
the  walls,  and  his  thoughts  went  far  away  to  a  pleasant 
spot  beneath  a  group  of  willows,  by  a  gently  flowing  stream, 
where  the  moonbeams  once  played  upon  the  fair  face  of 
his  Mary,  and  he  sighed  heavily  as  he  reviewed  the  many 
changes  that  had  brought  them  where  they  now  were. 
Many  a  sunny  hour  came  flashing  upon  his  memory,  with 
its  dear  and  hallowed  associations  ;  the  early  days  of  their 
marriage  when  their  home  was  green  and  sylvan — the 
gathering  of  friends  on  every  fesjive  occasion — the  birth 
of  their  sweet  babe  that  brought  with  it  such  new  and 
blessed  ties ;  and  then  the  sunny  hours  departed,  and  the 
clouds  covered  them ;  the  days  of  sickness  came  and  their 
property  fled  away,  and  with  their  wealth  went  their 
friends  from  them.  Weary  months  of  toil  in  a  strange 
city  was  thenceforward  their  portion ;  a  sick-bed  was  the 
strong  man's  heritage,  and  days  of  fasting  and  misery 
and  labor  devolved  on  the  delicate  wife.  The  child 
had  been  nursed  in  the  lap  of  luxury  Avent  out  into 
dirty  streets  to  get  her  bread  from  pitying  strangers,  and 


22  JEXNIE     GKIG.  » 

the  three — husband,  wife,  and  child — were  alone  in  the 
wide  world,  with  their  burden  of  poverty  and  woe,  all  the 
harder  to  bear  from  the  fact  that  they  were  unused  to  it. 
Thus  mused  the  sick  man  in  the  solitude  of  his  chamber, 
and  while  he  mused  a  mellower  gleam  of  light  fell  .upon 
his  pillow  and  illumined  his  shrunken  features,  and  a  soft 
step  was  by  the  bed-side,  and  a  beloved  voice  in  his  ear, 
telling  him  news  that  made  him  willing  to  die.  God  had 
sent  them  a  friend !  Even  when  he  had  been  repining  at 
the  decrees  of  His  Providence,  that  Providence  was  work 
ing  out  his  best  and  truest  good.  He  felt  that  his  days 
would  be  few  upon  the  earth,  and  that  his  Mary  would 
soon  follow  him ;  but  their  darling  Jennie  would  be  shel 
tered  and  taught,  and  that  by  a  true  disciple  of  their  Lord 
and  Master.  No  more  anguish  lest  his  precious  child  should 
become  a  prey  to  the  wary  and  dissolute  ;  no  more  grief  at 
her  withered,  cheerless  youth  ;  no  more  sorrowings  for  the 
wants  that  he  could  not  appease.  "  Oh  !  too  much !  too 
much  mercy  and  goodness  hast  thou  shown  toward  Thine 
unworthy  servants,  my  Saviour  and  my  God  !"  murmured 
he,  and  a  violent  hemorrhage  ensued,  occasioned  by  the 
sudden  shock  of  the  unlocked  for  joy. 


- 


CHAPTER  V. 

BEFORE  another  week  had  elapsed,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grig 
were  comfortably  settled  in  a  pleasant  cottage  belonging 
to  Mrs.  Dunmore,  whose  increasing  benevolence  had  found 
a  delightful  impulse  in  the  certainty  that  the  poor  woman 
was  no  other  than  one  of  her  school-girl  acquaintances, 
whom  she  had  most  dearly  loved,  but  of  whom  she  had 
heard  little  since  they  had  completed  their  studies.  They 
had  married,  and  in  their  new  relationships  lost  sight  of 
each  other,  until,  by  a  mysterious  Providence,  they  were 
now  united.  It  would  have  been  but  a  mockery  in  Mrs. 
Grig  to  appear  at  all  reluctant  to  accept  the  support  she  so 
much  needed,  since  her  own  precarious  health,  and  her 
husband's  approaching  dissolution  rendered  it  impossible  for 
her  to  obtain  her  own  livelihood.  Gladly,  therefore,  and 
with  alacrity,  they  left  the  scene  of  their  past  troubles 
and  necessities  for  the  pretty  cottage  and  the  congenial 
society  of  their  disinterested  friend,  yet  scarcely  were  they 
established  in  their  nejp  abode  when  the  messenger  of 
death  came  to  claim  his  victim.  The  child  was  there,  with 
her  young  head  nestling  in  her  dying  father's  bosom  ;  the 
wife  stood  by  with  a  deep  but  subdued  grief,  and  the  faith- 


24  JENNIE    OKI  G. 

fill  friend  was  near  with  pious  words  of  sympathy  and 
comfort. 

The  sick  man  had  given  his  parting  embrace  to  the  be 
loved  objects  of  his  affection,  and  had  assured  them  of  his 
perfect  confidence  in  a  rest  and  peace  beyond  the  grave, 
but  now  his  mind  seemed  wandering  to  other  scenes. 

"  Down  by  the  willows,  dear  Mary,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  to 
cross  the  river  once  more ;  it  is  chilly  here,  but  do  you  see 
how  warmly  the  sun  is  shining  upon  the  green  banks  op 
posite  !  There  are  bright  flowers  there,  too,  s«ch  as  we 
have  often  gathered,  and  the  birds  sing  so  sweetly  !  Oh  ! 
let  us  cross  the  river,  once  more,  dear  Mary  !"  His  words 
grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and  they  heard  them  no  more, 
for  he  had  crossed  the  river,  and  was  wandering  where 
the  sun  shines  more  resplendently  than  earthly  sun  can 
shine,  and  where  brighter  flowers,  and  sweeter  birds  than 
mortal  ever  saw  or  heard,  forever  bloom  and  sing ;  but  his 
Mary  still  lingered  on  the  other  shore,  detained  by  an  in 
visible  Power,  who  calleth  home  whom  he  will,  and  when 
he  will.  But  two  short  months  she  lingered,  and  then  the 
husband  and  wife  were  roaming  together  beside  the  pure 
river  of  life,  that  floweth  out  from  the  Throne  of  God  and 
of  the  Lamb,  and  the  child  was  left,  but  not  alone. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  month  of  June  saw  Mrs.  Dunmore  settled  i 
country-house  for  the  summer.  It  was  a  pretty,  unobtru 
sive  cottage,  standing  upon  a  sloping  lawn,  and  facing  the 
east.  In  the  distance  lay  a  sylvan  lake,  beyond  which, 
through  the  trees,  gleamed  the  white  spires  of  an  adjoin 
ing  village.  All  around  were  lofty  mountains  covered  with 
verdure  and  glory.  On  the  north  of  the  house  was  a  dense 
grove  of  chestnut,  and  walnut,  and  maple,  and  pine,  where 
multitudes  of  squirrels  had  their  hiding-places,  and  the 
birds  sang  unmolested. 

There  little  Bella  used  to  love  to  play,  while  nurse  Nan 
nie  gathered  flowers  to  deck  the  neck  of  her  pet  lamb,  or, 
when  the  nuts  began  to  fall,  helped  her  to  fill  her  tiny  bas 
ket  ;  and  there  her  mother  had  her  laid,  when  she  could  no 
longer  play,  with  her  folded  hands  clasping  some  forest-buds, 
and  a  wreath  of  wild-flowers  around  her  brow.  There  was  a 
pure  white  monument  at  the  head  of  her  grave,  in  the  sun 
niest  and  happiest  spot  in  the  whole  grove,  with  a  rose  carved 
upon  it,  and  a  beauteous  bud  broken  from  the  parent  stem ; 
and  there  Jennie  stood  with  old  Nannie,  a  few  days  after 
their  arrival,  wondering  that  the  bud  on  the  tombstone 


26  JENNIE    GKIG. 

should  be  broken,  and  listening  to  Nannie  as  she  talked 
about  the  "  angel  child,"  as  she  called  her  departed  darling. 

"  She  was  too  good  for  this  world,  Miss  Jennie,"  said 
she ;  and  then  the  faithful  old  creature  rocked  to  and  fro 
as  she  sat  upon  the  trunk  of  a  tree  that  had  fallen  down, 
and  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  clean  checked-apron,  sobbing 
as  if  her  grief  was  even  then  but  new. 

"  You  are  just  like  her  in  all  your  little  ways,"  continued 
she,  as  Jennie  stole  up  to  her  and  patted  her  black  head 
with  her  tiny  hand,  as  if  to  soothe  her  sorrows ;  "  Missus 
would  have  been  clean  gone  and  done  with  this  life  if  she 
had  not  lighted  upon  you  to  take  the  sadness  out  of  her 
heart  for  her  Bella." 

"But,  Nannie,  I  am  not  Bella,"  said  the  child.  "Do 
you  think  I  can  ever  be  as  dear  as  she  was,  so  that  her 
mother  may  forget  that  she  is  dead  ?  I  saw  her  weeping 
the  other  day  as  she  came  from  the  grove,  and  I  was  afraid 
she  did  not  love  me,  and  was  sorry  I  was  here  to  make  hei 
think  of  her  loss." 

"  Not  love  you,  Miss  Jennie !  how  can  you  say  so,  when 
she  took  you,  poor  little  beggar  as  you  was,  all  from  ttu 
mire  and  dirt  to  be  her  own  child." 

"  You  must  not  tell  me  of  that  time,  Nannie,  it  makes 
me  ache  here  ;"  said  she,  putting  her  hand  to  her  heart. 
"  Many  a  long  day  have  I  gone  back  and  forth  on  that  sad 
walk,  trembling  for  fear  the  lumbering  omnibuses  would 
run  over  me,  and  not  one  penny  did  I  ever  ask,  for  I  could 
not  beg,  Nannie,  and  if  some  kind  gentlemen  and  ladies 


JEN  NIK     Glilti.  27 

had  not  noticed  me,  and  sometimes  given  me  a  sixpence  or 
two,  I  should  have  gone  home  to  my  poor  father  and 
mother  with  nothing  for  my  hard  day's  work,  and  then  we 
must  have  starved,  for  dear  mamma  was  not  able  to  get 
bread  for  us  all,  and  nurse  my  sick  father  besides.  You 
must  not  speak  of  that  time  again,  Nannie,  for  it  takes  me 
away  from  this  pleasant  sunny  spot,  and  puts  me  back  in  a 
dismal  room,  with  no  light,  nor  warmth,  nor  greenness." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  my  little  girl  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Dunmore,  who  just  then  approached  the  child,  and  per 
ceived  the  traces  of  recent  tears  on  her  sweet  face.  "  Is 
she  not  happy  among  the  birds,  and  squirrels,  and 
flowers  ?" 

"  Oh !  -yes,  very  happy  indeed,  dear  mamma,"  and  Jennie 
took  the  hand  that  was  extended  to  her,  and  kissed  it  with 
all  the  ardor  of  -her  impetuous  nature  ;  "  but  I  was  think 
ing  of  the  dreary  home  that  was  mine  before  you  found  me 
and  cared  for  me." 

"  Sit  down  here,  my  darling,  and  talk  to  me  a  little.  Is 
the  thought  of  the  past  very  sad  to  my  Jenny ;  and  can 
she  see  no  reason  to  be  grateful,  even  for  that  time  of 
darkness  and  sorrow  ?  Do  you  remember  how  the  black 
clouds  came  yesterday,  and  quite  hid  the  sun  from  our 
sight,  and  the  strong  wind  shook  the  house,  so  that  we 
were  almost  afraid  of  its  fury,  and  the  heavy  rain  fell  and 
bowed  some  of  our  beauteous  shrubs  nearly  to  the  ground ; 
then  the  clouds  passed  away  and  the  sun  shone  more 
brightly  than  ever,  and  the  fierce  winds  were  hushed,  and 


28  JENNIEGKIG. 

the  shrubs  lifted  up  their  drooping  heads  all  the  more 
graceful  and  lovely  for  the  crushing  storm.  So  it  is  when 
God  sends  trials  and  sufferings  upon  us — the  world  looks 
black  and  dreary,  and  we  are  bowed  very  low  in  our 
affliction,  and  His  purpose  in  it  all  is  to  make  our  hearts 
better  and  purer,  and  more  beauteous  in  His  sight  when 
the  troubles  shall  have  passed  away." 

"  Did  the  world  seem  very  dismal  to  you,  dear  mamma, 
when  Bella  died  ?" 

"Very  dismal,  my  child,  until  God  sent  me  another 
little  daughter  to  lighten  the  grief  that  was  pressing  me 
down ;  now  the  clouds  are  parting,  and  the  sunlight  comes 
beaming  through,  and  I  think  we  may  be  very  happy,  my 
darling,  if  we  will.  But  here  comes  Mr.  Colbert.  Let  us 
go  to  meet  him,  he  used  to  love  dear  Bella,  and  will  be 
glad  to  see  you,  I  know." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MR.  COLBERT  was  the  clergyman  of  the  parish  and  lived 
near  Mrs.  Dunmore  with  his  widowed  mother,  and  often, 
as  he  took  his  daily  walk,  he  bent  his  steps  toward  the  cot 
tage  of  his  friend  whom  he  had  known  in  her  joys  and  her 
sorrows,  and  from  whose  subdued  and  Christian  conversa 
tion  he  derived  both  pleasure  and  profit.  He  had  baptized 
and  buried  •  her  little  Bella,  and  now  as  he  gave  Mrs.  Dun- 
more  a  kind  and  earnest  greeting,  he  looked  with  painful 
interest  upon  the  child  who  stood  modestly  by  her  side, 
and  in  whom  he  traced  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  de 
parted.  Mrs.  Dunmore  instantly  perceiving  the  impression 
made  upon  him,  hastened  to  present  her  young  protegee, 
saying,  "  You  have  doubtless  noticed  how  like  my  sweet 
Bella,  the  child  of  my  adoption  is  in  feature  and  expres 
sion — I  trust  to  you,  my  dear  sir,  to  aid  me  in  trying  to 
make  her  as  truly  like  her  in  heart  and  life.  It  is  a 
weighty  responsibility  that  I  have  assumed ;  but  He  who 
directed  the  impulse  to  make  her  my  own,  will  impart  the 
strength  and  wisdom  to  guide  her  aright." 

"  You  do  me  honor  in  admitting  me  to  a  participation  in 
your  new  and  sacred  duties,  dear  madam,"  replied  the 


30  JENNIE     GRIG. 

clergyman,  "  be  assured,  I  shall  most  gladly  improve  every 
opportunity  offered  me  for  the  welfare  of  your  little  Jennie. 
Bella  used  often  to  walk  with  me,"  continued  he,  taking 
the  hand  of  the  little  girl,  "  will  you  sometimes  join  me  as 
I  ramble  about  these  woods  and  hills  ?  Perhaps  we  can 
find  some  pleasant  things  to  tell  each  other  when  we  are 
better  acquainted." 

Jennie's  dark  eyes  sparkled,  as  she  looked  to  her  mother 
for  her  assent  to  the  kind  minister's  proposition,  and  as 
Mrs.  Dunmore  willingly  agreed  to  it,  she  sprang  with  a 
glad  step  to  meet  old  Nannie,  who  Ijad  come  to  call  them 
to  lunch.  Mr.  Colbert  declined  joining  them  on  the  plea 
of  extending  his  walk,  and  bidding  them  good  morning, 
soon  disappeared  amid  the  trees. 

One  moment  he  lingered  by  the  little  grave,  and  gather 
ing  from  it  a  bunch  of  violets,  he  followed  the  path 
through  the  woods  to  the  road,  and  then  turned  toward  his 
home.  His  way  led  through  an  avenue  of  maples,  whose 
dense  foliage  quite  obscured  the  sky  above  his  head.  On 
either  side,  stretched  green  meadows,  enameled  with  the 
fresh  spring  flowers  ;  and  beyond  him,  in  the  distance,  the 
avenue  seemed  to  open  into  the  pure  blue  heavens,  athwart 
which  the  fleecy  clouds  were  ever  and  anon  flitting  like 
angels  busied  in  doing  their  Master's  will.  The  scene  was 
rich  and  hallowed,  and  called  forth  the  sweetest  and  purest 
emotions.  "If  the  pathway  through  life  was  ever  thus 
tranquil  and  serene,"  thought  he,  "  and  if  the  eye  caught 
only  such  visions  of  beauty  and  grace  as  are  now  before 


JENNIK    GKIG.  31 

me,  how  like  Paradise  would  this  earth  seem !  But  it  can 
not  be  ;  I  must  tread  a  rough  and  sometimes  disagreeable 
road,  and  engage  in  fierce  and  bitter  conflicts,  ere  I  can 
emerge  into  the  glories  of  that  better  land  of  which  the 
beauteous  scene  I  now  survey  always  reminds  me  !"  and, 
as  he  mused,  he  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  leaving 
the  silent  avenue,  seated  himself  upon  a  rustic  bench  that 
was  placed  beneath  an  old  maple  near  his  home.  The 
quaint  old  mansion  stood  alone  upon  a  slight  eminence, 
and  on  every  side  luxurious  meadows,  and  orchards  spread 
themselves  out,  until  they  reached  the  mountains.  _  From 
various  points  three  lovely  lakes  were  visible — one,  half 
hidden  by  its  green  belt  of  forest  trees,  another  glistening 
in  the  broad  sunlight,  and  a  third  lying  in  calm  and  placid 
beauty. 

All  about,  in  the  rich  pastures,  cattle  were  quietly 
grazing,  or  resting  beneath  the  shadows  of  the  old  trees,  or 
frisking  in  the  glad  spring-time.  The  light  and  shade 
played  upon  the  fresh  landscape,  as  bright  and  somber 
imaginings  sweep  over  a  youthful  heart ;  and  as  the  young 
clergyman  drank  in  all  the  glory  and  loveliness  of  the 
scene,  his  soul  was  filled  with  a  rapture,  which  none  can 
ever  know  but  the  earnest  Christian,  who  sees  in  every  bud 
and  leaf  the  evidences  of  a  beneficent  Father's  love. 

Long  he  sat  reveling  in  that  unbroken  quietness  and 
beauty,  nor  did  he  perceive  the  soft  footsteps  of  his  mother, 
until  a  gentle  hand  was  laid  upon  his  brow,  and  she  said, 
"  My  son,  I  am  glad  you  have  returned ;  poor  Sam  Lisle 


32  .JENNIE     OKI  G. 

has  been  twice  for  you  to  visit  his  daughter,  who  can  not 
survive  through  the  day.  He  seemed  greatly  distressed  on 
not  finding  you,  and  begged  me  to  send  you  immediately 
to  them  when  I  should  see  you." 

"  I  can  not  stop,  now,  dear  mother,"  said  he,  as  she 
pressed  him  to  remain  but  one  moment  for  refreshments. 
"  I  fear  I  am  already  too  late,"  and  he  turned  quickly 
away  from  the  contemplation  of  the  glories  of  nature,  and 
passed  again  through  the  silent  avenue,  and  on  to  the  vil 
lage,  to  wrestle  with  the  sorrows  of  this  weary  life,  where 
there  was  poverty,  and  suffering,  and  death. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHO  that  saw  the  little  Jennie  on  the  first  Sunday 
morning,  in  her  summer  home,  would  have  imagined  that 
But  a  few  months  before  she  was  sweeping  the  dirty  cross 
ings  of  Broadway,  a  thin,  meager,  half-clad  child,  scorned 
by  the  passers-by,  and  loved  only  by  two  wretched  ones,  as 
pitiable  and  unsought  as  herself! 

As  Mrs.  Dunmore,  at  early  dawn,  entered  the  pleasant 
room,  once  Bella's,  but  now  appropriated  to  the  newly- 
found,  the  child  lay  with  her  dimpled  arms  thrown  over 
her  head,  upon  the  soft  pillows,  and  her  sweet  mouth 
half  parted  with  a  smile  at  some  innocent  but  illusive 
fancy  that  filled  her  happy  dreams. 

Old  Nannie  had  stolen  into  the  chamber,  and  stood 
peeping  over  the  shotilder  of  her  mistress  at  her  young 
charge.  She  had  put  her  finger  upon  her  lip,  as  if  to 
hush  her  to  deeper  slumbers,  when,  suddenly,  a  glad  sun 
beam  shot  from  the  east,  and  fell  upon  the  sleeper's  face. 
With  one  bound  she  freed  herself  from  the  bedclothes, 
and  stood  by  the  window,  pointing  toward  the  glorious  vis 
ion  that  had  so  long  been  hidden  from  her  sight.  Never 
had  she  seen  the  blessed  sun  rise  since  a  wee  child  of  four 
2* 


34  JENNIE    GEIG. 

years,  in  the  home  of  her  birth,  which  had  almost  from 
that  early  age  been  the  possession  of  strangers,  and  now, 
as  she  stood  in  her  simple  night-dress,  with  her  long  curls 
loosened  and  floating  in  the  pure  breeze,  she  seemed 
some  new-born  spirit  wondering  at  the  display  of  the 
Creator's  mighty  power.  Her  face  was  flushed  with  a  hal 
lowed  emotion,  and  as  the  sun  stood  forth  above  the 
horizon  in  its  full  splendor,  she  sank  upon  her  knees,  and 
expressed  her  gushing  feelings  in  the  simple  yet  sublime 
words  first  uttered  by  Divine  lips,  amid  the  consecrated 
scenes  of  the  Holy  Land. 

Mrs.  Dunmore  instinctively  knelt  while  the  child  poured 
forth  her  humble  adoration,  and  she  prayed  most  earnestly, 
that  the  deep  feeling  of  reverence  she  had  just  witnessed  in 
her  adopted  one,  might  never  be  displaced  or  blunted  by 
contact  with  an  impious  and  careless  world. 

Jennie  had  been  so  wholly  absorbed  in  her  joy  at  the 
beauteous  vision  before  her,  that  she  had  scarcely  noticed 
the  presence  of  her  mother,  until  Mrs.  Dunmore  approached 
her  and  said,  "  My  darling  is  up  betimes  on  this  hallowed 
morning,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  that  she  is  not  unmindful 
of  Him  who  giveth  us  all  our  blessings."  Then  the  little 
girl  looked  up  with  a  happy  smile,  and  giving  her  accus 
tomed  kiss,  hastened  to  prepare  for  family  devotions,  and  for 
the  services  of  the  village  church.  It  was  a  pleasant  h'ttle 
church,  and  in  former  years,  many  a  good  old  saint  had 
gone  from  its  portals  to  the  Church  triumphant  in  Heaven ; 
but  now  few  came  to  her  solemn  feasts,  and  there  was  a 


J  E  N  N  I  E     (i  It  I  G  .  35 

languishing,  sleepy  aspect  about  it  that  often  sickened  the 
hearts  of  the  little  band  of  zealous  ones  who  were  striving 
to  keep  it  alive.  Many  a  time  was  its  faithful  minister 
almost  ready  to  faint  in  his  apparently  useless  labors ;  but 
on  this  day  one  little  soul  gazed  earnestly  on  him,  as  if 
thirsting  for  the  spiritual  nourishment  he  was  imparting, 
aud  his  heart  was  revived  and  strengthened.  In  the  after 
noon  was  the  funeral  of  poor  Bessie  Lisle,  and  as  the  small 
group  of  mourners  moved  away  from  the  place  of  burial, 
Mr.  Colbert,  Mrs.  Dunmore,  and  Jennie,  lingered  in  the 
peaceful  cemetery  to  gather  lessons  of  wisdom  for  their 
own  summons  to  another  world.  This  cemetery  was  on  a 
high  hill  overlooking  the  village.  Here  and  there  drooped 
a  willow  over  some  loved  tomb,  or  a  rose-bush  bent  to 
scatter  its  burden  of  perfume  and  petals.  On  one  new- 
made  grave — the  quiet  resting-place  of  a  mother  and  her 
daughter,  snatched  from  their  friends  by  some  sudden  and 
terrible  casuality — were  strewn  fresh  and  beauteous  flowers, 
the  fragrant  offering  of  a  gentle  girl,  who  daily  sought  that 
sacred  spot  to  weep  over  the  loved  and  lost.  Near  this, 
beneath  a  shady  yew,  was  the  lowly  bed  of  the  poor  man's 
daughter,  whose  remains  had  just  been  placed  therein. 

Mrs.  Dunmore  leaned  thoughtfully  against  the  tree,  and 
sighed  as  she  recalled  her  own  bereavements,  and  her 
Christian  heart  was  busy  in  suggesting  some  means  of  con 
solation  for  the  stricken  parents.  Mr.  Colbert  was  stooping 
by  a  distant  tomb  reading  its  epitaph  to  little  Jennie,  who 
listened  with  the  deepest  interest.  There  was  no  sound  to 


36  .1KNNIE     GRIG. 

mar  the  stillness  of  that  peaceful  retreat,  the  whispering 
winds  went,  dirge-like,  through  the  waving  grass,  and  the 
leaves  rustled  softly  above  the  quiet  sleepers. 

Even  the  child  felt  the  awful  solemnity  of  the  place,  an^ 
crept  nearer  to  the  kind  minister,  as  he  told  her  of  the  deal 
lamb  that  was  so  early  called  away  to  the  green  pastures. 
The  stone  at  her  head  was  somewhat  like  that  at  Bella's 
grave,  and  violets  grew  all  over  the  turf,  too,  and  Jennie 
gathered  a  bunch  of  the  sweetest  and  took  them  to  her 
mother,  who  crushed  them  in  her  bosom  and.  moistened 
them  with  her  tears.  Slowly  and  regretfully  they  left  the 
spot  so  fraught  with  sad  yet  chastening  influences,  and 
sought  their  happy  homes,  yet  not  without  leaving  their 
prayers  and  their  sympathies  at  the  mourner's  humble 
cottage. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  summer  went  joyously  on,  and  the  minister  and 
child  roamed  about  amid  the  green  things  of  the  earth., 
All  the  loveliest  haunts  of  that  pleasant  spot  had  echoed 
the  grave,  but  gentle  tones  of  the  man  of  God,  and  the 
answering  prattle  of  the  little  one  who  went  tripping  on  by 
his  side,  sometimes  thoughtful  and  earnest,  sometimes 
merry  and  glad ;  and  now  the  time  had  come  for  Mrs. 
Dunmore  to  return  to  her  city  residence,  and  they  must 
bid  their  kind  friends  at  the  Rectory  good-by.  Mrs.  Col 
bert  sat  with  her  son  upon  the  rustic  bench,  and  the  child 
was  between  them  holding  a  hand  of  each.  Mr.  Colbert 
pushed  her  dark  hair  from  her  forehead,  and  said,  as  he 
looked  in  her  tearful  eyes';  "Jennie  is  sorry  to  part  with 
her  old  friends,  but  perhaps  she  will  forget  them  before 
another  summer  ?" 

"  I  fear  we  shall  not  be  able  to  return  to for  several 

years  to  come  ;"  said  Mrs.  Dunmore.  "  I  have  just  received 
a  summons  from  my  husband's  mother,  who  is  in  very 
feeble  health,  and  as  I  shall  devote  myself  to  her  during 
her  life,  I  must  forego  the  pleasure  of  my  summer  home 
for  awhile.  Jennie  will  be  placed  at  Madame  La  Blanche's 


38  JENNIE     GEIG. 

school  during  my  absence,  and  my  separation  from  her  will 
be  another  pang  added  to  that  which  I  feel  on  leaving  you 
all  for  an  indefinite  period."  A  shade  passed  over  the  face 
of  the  young  minister ;  but  it  gave  place  to  a  smile  as  the 
child  said,  "  But  you  promised  that  I  should  come  back 
some  day,  and  keep  house  for  you  in  this  good  old  place, 
and  then  you  know" — she  added,  smiling  through  the 
tears  that  had  bedimmed  her  eyes,  "  I  should  go  away  no 
more,  but  we  could  be  always  happy  here  together." 

Jennie  could  not  understand  Mrs.  Colbert's  earnest  man 
ner  as  she  pressed  her  fondly  to  her  bosom,  and  said  "  God 
grant  it,  my  sweet  child  !"  but  she  returned  the  caresses  so 
lavishly  heaped  upon  her,  and  then  jumped  down  to  play 
with  old  Skip,  the  house-dog,  who  was  leaping  about  her 
as  if  to  share  in  the  adieus.  Mrs.  Dunmore  took  the 
vacant  seat,  and  the  three  friends  conversed  long  and 
seriously  upon  the  former  years  of  happiness  spent  in  each 
other's  society,  and  the  interval  that  might  ensue  ere  they 
should  be  gathered  again  beneath  the  spreading  maples ; 
and  as  they  conversed,  one  heart  dwelt  with  greater  than 
usual  tenderness  upon  the  little  figure  that  was  flitting 
about  in  the  soft  twilight. 

The  night  came,  the  twilight  had  faded  out,  and  the 
little  figure,  too,  had  vanished,  leaving  that  one  breast 
desolate,  save  when  a  lightsome  shadow  flitted  across  its 
ever-verdant  memory.  The  summer  cottage  looked  dreary, 
with  its  closed  blinds,  and  the  autumn  leaves  rustling  about 
it  in  the  bleak  winds;  but  the  little  tombstone  still  gleamed 


JENNIE    GEIG.  39 

in  the  sunlight,  that  cast  a  pleasant  and  warm  halo  upon 
it,  and  the  birds  and  squirrels  sung  and  leaped  about  in  the 
beauteous  grove  as  blithesome  and  glad  as  if  life's  rolling 
seasons  brought  no  sad  changes.  The  man  of  God  walked 
quietly  up  and  down  the  silent  avenue,  striving  to  think 
only  of  the  blue  sky  into  which  it  seemed  to  open.  The 
gentle  widow  went  out  on  her  mission  of  love  and  mercy, 
to  smooth  the  dying  pillow  of  the  sick  and  aged,  and  the 
child  was  again  in  the  heart  of  the  mighty  city,  not  a  pen 
niless,  uncared-for  thing,  but  surrounded  by  a  joyous  group 
of  happy  children,  and  watched  over  by  a  kind  and  faithful 
teacher. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  WHO  will  share  a  room  with  little  Jennie  Dunmore  ?" 
said  Madame  La  Blanche,  on  the  day  of  the  child's  arrival 
at  school.  "  Who  will  set  her  an  example  of  patience  and 
perseverance  in  her  studies,  and  aid  her  in  her  difficulties 
and  trials  ?  Who  will  help  her  to  be  obedient,  and  indus 
trious,  and  good  ?"  Many  an  eager  hand  was  raised  as  the 
school  girls  looked  upon  the  sweet  face  of  the  new-comer, 
who  stood  near  her  teacher,  timidly  glancing  at  the  strange 
band  before  her ;  but  Rosalie  Moore  sprung  from  her  seat, 
and,  throwing  her  arm  around  Jennie's  waist,  looked  up  so 
pleadingly  at  Madame  La  Blanche,  that  she  said,  "  Remem 
ber,  dear  children,  I  give  you  to  each  other  as  kind  and 
loving  sisters,  not  to  foster  in  each  other  the  love  of  dress 
and  show,  not  to  uphold  each  other  in  acts  of  rebellion 
and  sin,  but  to  strive  together  for  that  inward  adorning 
both  of  heart  and  mind,  which  is  far  better  than  any  out 
ward  ornament,  and  to  walk  hand  in  hand,  so  long  as  your 
pathway  shall  be  the  same,  toward  that  better  land,  where 
I  trust  we  may  all  one  day  again  mingle.  To-day  shall  be 
a  holiday  among  you,  and  to-morrow  Jennie  will  enter 
upon  her  new  duties,  which  I  hope  will  be  pleasant  to  her. 


JENNIE     tiKlG.  41 

I  need  not  ask  you  to  remember  the  basket  of  charity- 
work,  which  each  will  find  in  her  room,  since  you  all  know 
how  much  happier  you  are  in  your  recreations  after  some 
act  of  benevolence  and  kindness.  Jennie  will  go  with 
me  on  my  round  of  visiting  on  Saturday,"  continued  she, 
as  the  girls,  with  a  hop,  skip,  and  jump,  left  the  school 
room. 

Rosalie  was  very  proud  to  show  Jennie  their  neat  little 
bedroom,  with  its  snowy  curtains  and  white  counterpane, 
and  its  pleasant  view  from  the  windows.  There  were  two 
windows  with  wide  seats,  where  they  could  sit  and  work,  or 
study,  and  these  looked  out  upon  a  beautiful  garden,  and 
the  sweet  odor  of  the  flowers  came  up  and  refreshed  them. 
It  was  so  rare  and  delightful,  in  the  midst  of  the  city,  to 
find  such  freshness  and  beauty  that  it  was  all  the  more 
appreciated,  and  Jennie  felt  that  she  could  be  very  happy 
there.  She  and  Rosalie  got  the  stand  with  the  basket  of 
work  upon  it,  and  placed  it  near  one  of  the  windows,  and 
both  sat  together  there  and  worked  on  the  coarse  garments. 

"  Who  are  these  for  ?"  asked  Jennie,  "  and  what  does 
Madame  La  Blanche  mean  by  my  going  '  the  rounds'  with 
her  on  Saturday  ?" 

"  These  are  for  very  poor  people,"  said  Rosalie,  "  and 
every  week  our  teacher  takes  as  many  as  we  can  finish, 
and  goes  with  one  of  us  to  cany  them.  Have  you  ever 
seen  any  poor  people,  Jennie  ?  and  do  you  know  how 
dreadfully  they  suffer  in  the  cold  winters  for  want  of 
clothes  and  food?" 


42  JKNNIK     URIG. 

Jennie  did  not  answer,  but  she  covered  her  face  with 
both  hands,  and  Rosalie  could  see  the  tears  as  they  trickled 
through  her  fingers  and  fell  upon  her  work.  She  thought 
it  very  strange ;  but  she  said  as  she  drew  her  closely  to 
her  and  kissed  her  tenderly,  "  Never  mind,  we  will  talk 
about  something  else.  I've  been  so  much  among  them 
that  I  am  used  to  their  poverty  now.  What  do  you  mean 
to  study  Jennie  ?  I  hope  you  will  be  in  all  my  classes, 
although  you  are  a  great  deal  younger  than  I,  I  know,  for 
I  was  eleven  the  day  before  yesterday,"  and  Rosalie  tossed 
her  old  head  and  looked  at  her  companion  in  a  very 
patronizing  way. 

"  I  was  ten  in  April,"  said  Jennie,  and  this  is  October, 
so  you  see  we  are  not  very  wide  apart ;  but  I  do  not  know 
about  my  studies — mamma  said  that  Madame  La  Blanche 
would  direct  them." 

"  Have  you  ever  studied  French?"  asked  Rosalie.  "I  am 
reading  '  Corinne'  already,  and  Hattie  Mann,  who  is  two 
years  older  than  I,  has  but  just  commenced  the  language." 

"  I  read  '  Corinne'  with  dear  mamma  just  before  she 
died,"  said  Jennie,  "  but  I  should  like  very  much  to  read  it 
with  you  again  if  Madame  La  Blanche  pleases." 

"  Is  your  mother  dead,  Jennie  ?  and  is  not  that  lady  she 
whom  you  call  mamma  ?" 

"  God  took  my  own  dear  mother  and  father  from  me, 
Rosalie  ;  but  before  they  left,  He  sent  the  kind  lady  to 
them  who  made  me  her  child,  and  they  were  quite  willing 
to  go,  when  they  knew  I  should  not  be  aloue  in  the  world." 


J  E  N  N  I  E     (i  K  I  G  .  43 

"  Did  you  live  in  a  beautiful  house  when  your  father  and 
mother  were  alive,  Jennie,  and  were  there  birds  and  flowers 
all  around  it,  and  had  you  a  nice  little  pony  that  you  could 
call  your  own,  and  a  dear  little  sister  with  golden  curls  ? 
That  is  the  way  my  home  is,"  continued  she  without  wait 
ing  for  an  answer,  "  and  some  vacation  I  am  to  invite  any 
one  of  the  girls  that  I  please  to  go  with  me  to  my 
mother's,  and  I  know  who  it  will  be,  too,  don't  you,  darling 
Jennie  ?"  and  she  jumped  up,  and  putting  her  needle  in 
her  work,  she  kissed  the  astonished  child  again,  and  went 
singing  down  the  stairs  as  merry  as  a  lark.  Jennie  sat 
quietly  in  the  window,  thinking  of  the  contrast  between 
her  sometime  home  in  the  city  and  the  one  described  by 
her  happy  school-mate,  and  she  would  have  grown  very 
sad  over  her  solitary  musings;  but  a  gay  laugh  in  the 
garden  below  diverted  her  from  them,  and  looking  out,  she 
saw  Rosalie,  with  a  garland  of  leaves  around  her  head, 
and  in  her  hand  a  bouquet  of  fall  flowers,  which  she  was 
vainly  endeavoring  to  throw  up  to  her  new  sister.  Her 
merriment  attracted  the  other  girls,  and  soon  Jennie  stood 
among  them,  with  no  trace  of  sorrow  upon  her  bro<v,  and 
the  memory  of  the  bitter  past  wholly  swallowed  up  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  bright  and  blessed  present. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SATURDAY  morning  was  a  busy  time  at  Madame  La 
Blanche's  school.  Little  fingers  stitched  -with  untiring  in 
dustry  upon  the  coarse  raiment  that  was  to  give  warmth 
to  many  an  otherwise  shivering  body,  and  by  the  hour  ap 
pointed  for  the  visits,  the  teacher  was  surprised  at  the 
great  results  of  such  tiny  efforts.  She  smiled  approvingly 
on  her  pupils,  and  summoning  a  servant  to  take  charge  of 
the  weighty  bundle,  she  took  Jennie  by  the  hand  and  left 
the  house. 

Out  through  the  pleasant  garden,  past  the  magnificent 
mansions  of  the  rich  they  went — on,  and  on,  amid  throngs 
of  the  gay  and  fashionable,  till  the  streets  grew  dingy  with 
a  motly  crowd  of  the  miserable  and  ragged,  who  seemed  to 
herd  together,  as  if  thus  to  hide  their  degradation  and 
shame.  Some  looked  upon  them,  as  they  walked  along, 
with  a  bold  and  impudent  stare  ;  but  others  shrunk  from 
their  observation,  and  drew  their  tattered  shawls  more 
closely  around  them  as  they  moved  hastily  away.  There 
were  some  bargaining  at  the  markets  for  withered  or 
decaying  vegetables,  and  others  purchasing,  at  a  diminished 
price,  stale  bread  from  dirty  bakeries,  and  many  a  one 


J  E  N  N  I  E     G  K  I  G .  45 

loitering  along  in  his  filth  and  squalor,  with  no  object  nor 
aim  save  to  dawdle  away  the  time  that  hung  too  wearily 
upon  him.  It  was  a  sad  and  loathsome  sight,  so  near  the 
gorgeous  thoroughfare  of  this  mighty  city,  to  see  the  piti 
able  objects  of  unmitigated  want ;  but  there  they  were, 
and  in  all  that  teeming  mass  but  two  ministering  spirits 
were  visible,  gliding  on  with  their  offerings  of  kindness  and 
mercy. 

Down  through  a  dark  alley,  whose  fetid  odors  were  quite 
sufficient  to  deter  the  dainty  from  penetrating  beyond — 
they  went,  and  into  a  miserable  room  where  was  scarcely 
space  for  them  to  stand,  so  huddled  was  it  with  broken 
furniture  and  ragged  children.  A  fire  was  burning  in  a 
shattered  grate,  and  an  untidy  woman  stood  ironing  by  a 
table  whereon  was  the  remnant  of  their  meager  dinner. 
Her  husband  crouched  over  the  coals  as  if  the  day  was 
not  warm  and  sunny.  His  clothes  hung  about  his  limbs  in 
large  folds,  and  his  sunken  eyes  told  that  disease  was  mak 
ing  fearful  ravages  upon  him.  Madame  La  Blanche  opened 
her  bundle,  and,  handing  him  a  comfortable  dressing-gown 
nicely  quilted,  said,  "I  am  sorry  to  find  you  so  low, 
Michael,  but  God's  will  be  done,  perchance  He  means  to 
deliver  you  from  the  pinchings  of  a  bitter  season.  It  is  but 
little  I  can  do  for  you,"  she  continued,  as  the  grateful  man 
smoothed  down  the  warm  garment,  and  thanked  her  with 
tremulous  lips ;  "  my  children  made  it  for  you,  and  this 
little  one  I  have  taken  with  me  that  she  may  learn  to  be 
the  more  thoughtful  of  those  who  have  a  scanty  supply  of 


46  JENNIE    GRIG. 

the  good  things  of  this  life,  and  the  more  thankful  for  the 
blessings  of  abundance  and  health  bestowed  upon  her." 

"  Ah  !  yes,  miss,"  said  the  old  man,  running  his  lank  arms 
into  the  nice  garment,  and  wrapping  it  closely  about  him  ; 
" '  Blessed  is  he  that  considereth  the  poor,  the  Lord  will 
remember  him  in  the  time  of  trouble.'  Many 's  the  time  I 
shall  think  of  the  little  hands  that  sewed  on  this  for  the 
sick  old  man,  and  I  '11  pray,  miss,  that  you  may  never 
know  what  it  is  to  suffer  want  nor  sorrow  in  this  weary 
world,  and  that  you  may  all  be  sure  to  go  to  a  better  when 
you  die." 

Madame  La  Blanche  read  a  chapter  to  him  from  her 
pocket-Bible,  and  with  a  few  words  of  advice  and  comfort  to 
the  woman,  and  a  picture-book  for  the  children,  she  went 
from  the  unwholesome  room  up  a  crazy  staircase  to  one  a 
shade  better,  because  kept  with  some  degree  of  cleanliness. 
A  young  man  arose  and  gave  chairs  to  the  lady  and  the 
child,  and  his  mother  welcomed  them  with  a  joy  which  the 
poor  never  feign  toward  a  true  friend.  "How  is  John's 
cough  ?"  said  Madame  La  Blanche.  "  It  seems  to  me  he 
has  failed  since  I  saw  him  last ;  but  perhaps  it  is  because  I 
have  not  been  here  for  some  time  that  he  looks  thinner 
than  usual  to  me." 

"  Oh !  no,  ma'am,  'tis  n't  that,"  said  the  mother ;  "  poor 
Johnny 's  going  fast.  He  coughs  so  o'  nights,  it  fairly 
makes  me  ache  for  him.  It  puts  me  so  in  mind  of  Aby, 
I  can't  hardly  bear  it." 

"  I  wish  he  was  like  Aby,"  said  the  lady ;  "  Aby  was  a 


JENNIKGKIU.  47 

perfect  example  of  faith  and  patience,  and  he  died  as  a 
Christian  should  die,  with  a  firm  confidence  in  Him  whom 
he  Lad  trusted.  John  knows  that  he  can  not  live  long," 
continued  she,  "and  I  hope  he  is  not  afraid  to  die.  He 
has  the  same  heavenly  Father  to  go  to  for  support  in  these 
last  hours  that  Aby  had." 

"  Aby,  was  a  good  boy,"  said  the  mother ;  whose  heart 
seemed  constantly  to  revert  to  her  dead  son.  "  He  'd  a 
been  twenty  years  old  next  month  if  he'd  a  lived,  and 
John  won't  be  till  March ;  but  I  don't  expect  he  '11  live  to 
see  that  time,  John  won't  live  to  be  twenty  year  old,  John 
won't,"  and  the  afflicted  woman  turned  away  her  head  and 
looked  from  the  window  to  hide  her  grief.  Jennie  stood 
all  this  time  looking  around  upon  the  meanly-furnished 
apartment,  and  upon  its  thinly  clad  inmates,  and  as  she 
saw  a  young  girl  looking  wistfully  at  a  pretty  scarf  which 
she  wore,  she  whispered  earnestly  to  her  teacher,  and  then 
untying  it,  she  put  it  around  the  neck  of  the  poor  girl,  who 
seemed  almost  beside  herself  for  joy.  The  kind  lady  then 
left  some  money  to  procure  something  for  John's  cough, 
and  some  woolen  waistcoats  from  her  pack,  and,  promis 
ing  to  go  often  to  read  to  the  sick  boy,  they  departed ;  but 
the  breath  of  their  kindness  lingered  upon  the  hearts  of 
those  forlorn  ones,  and  cheered  them  in  their  struggles 
for  life. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  air  in  those  loathsome  streets  was  scarcely  less 
unwholesome  and  impure  than  in  the  close  and  crowded 
rooms,  yet  the  lady  and  the  child  kept  on  still  further 
from  the  cleanly  portions  of  the  city,  to  seek  out  other 
objects  of  pity  and  benevolence ;  and  as  they  walked,  they 
saw  a  woman  running  up  the  street,  and  heard  her  say  to 
a  respectable-looking  gentleman :  "  Doctor,  if  you  have 
time,  won't  you  please  to  stop  at  our  house  ?" 

Madame  La  Blanche  observed  the  physician  more  at 
tentively,  and  found  that  it  was  one  of  her  old  friends. 
He,  at  the  same  time,  turning  from  a  poor  man  to  whom 
he  had  been  talking,  recognized  her,  and  on  learning  her 
errand,  he  asked  her  to  accompany  him  to  see  one  of  his 
patients.  "It  is  a  melancholy  case,  madam,"  said  he, 
"  the  girl  is  afflicted  with  a  species  of  hysteria,  induced  by 
constant  pining  for  a  worthless  lover,  who  ran  away,  not 
long  since,  with  another  woman.  She  is  in  a  terrible 
state,  weeping  incessantly.  I  think,  perhaps,  you  may 
be  able  to  comfort  her  a  little ;  you  know  we  of  the 
sterner  mold  have  not  much  power  in  such  emergencies 
There  it  is,"  said  he,  as  they  reached  a  dusky  building. 


J  E  N  N  I  K     G  K  I  G .  49 

at  the  entrance  ot  which  stood  a  strange  group  of  idlers, 
torn  and  dirty.  The  sick  girl  lived  on  the  second  floor, 
with  her  grandmother  and  one  sister,  and  as  the  strangers 
entered,  she  shrunk  still  further  back  into  the  corner 
where  she  was  sitting.  A  strip  of  faded  calico  lay  upon 
her  lap,  and  now  and  then  she  would  put  a  stitch  in  it, 
but  oftener  she  raised  it  to  her  face  and  wiped  away  the 
tears  that  were  constantly  falling.  Her  grandmother 
seemed  troubled  and  sad  as  the  doctor  looked  thought 
fully  upon  her,  and  when  he  asked  "  If  she  had  been  any 
worse,  and  why  they  did  not  send  for  him  before  ?"  she  re 
plied,  "  Why  she  seems  about  the  same,  doctor ;  we  sent 
her  into  the  country  to  see  what  change  of  air  and  scene 
would  do  for  her,  but  she  is  n't  much  better  for  it.  She 
seems  to  be  in  a  study  all  the  time,  and  sits  still  and  cries 
a  great  deal.  We  try  to  rouse  her,  and  to  make  her  take 
notice  of  things,  but  she  falls  back  into  one  of  her  studies 
again." 

"  Come  here,  Jessie,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and  sit  in  the 
light  where  I  can  see  you.  Does  your  side  pain  you  any 
now?"  The  girl  moved  languidly  from  her  dark  corner 
and  stood  quietly  by  the  window,  but  she  answered  the 
doctor  only  in  monosyllables,  and  appeared  uneasy  while 
out  of  her  accustomed  retreat ;  and  so  soon  as  he  turned  to 
ask  her  sister  some  questions  about  her  she  glided  noise 
lessly  back,  and  sunk  into  the  old  seat,  wiping  her  eyes 
again  with  the  faded  cloth.  Madame  La  Blanche  drew 
near  to  her,  and  talked  to  her  in  a  calm  and  soothing  man- 
3 


50  JENNIE     GKIG. 

ner,  and  Jennie  seemed  really  distressed,  as  she  vainly 
tried  to  divert  her  from  her  grief  by  emptying  the  treasures 
of  her  pocket  before  her.  The  room  was  as  clean  as  it 
could  possibly  be,  and  the  persons  of  its  occupants  neat 
and  tidy,  but  every  thing  betokened  severe  and  pinching 
poverty.  The  bed  for  the  three  was  in  one  corner,  and 
this,  with  one  table  and  a  few  chairs,  comprised  all  their 
worldly  goods.  The  healthy  girl  was  washing  for  those 
who  never  knew  how  many  a  tale  of  want  and  woe  their 
finely-embroidered  clothes  could  tell.  A  line  was  stretched 
across  the  narrow  space,  and  there  hung  the  fine  linen 
and  muslin,  streaming  out  the  death-mist  upon  the  weak 
ened  lungs  of  that  wretched  girl  in  the  corner ;  and  the 
old  woman,  with  her  tremulous  hands,  was  smoothing  out 
the  robes  that  were  to  rustle  amid  scenes  of  pleasure  and 
folly,  while  the  wearers  never  bestowed  a  thought  upon  the 
lowly  ones  who  helped  to  adorn  them. 

"  There  is  a  prescription  for  Jessie,"  said  the  doctor,  as 
they  rose  to  go ;  "  it  will  cost  you  a  dollar,  for  the  medi 
cine  is  a  valuable  one." 

The  old  woman  took  the  paper  and  looked  vacantly 
upon  it,  while  her  thoughts  dwelt  upon  the  many  comfort 
able  things  that  one  dollar  would  buy  for  the  approaching 
winter.  Jessie's  life,  to  be  sure,  was  most  precious  to  her, 
but  to  what  purpose  would  it  be  saved,  if,  after  all,  the 
poor  child  should  suffer  for  the  necessaries  of  life.  The 
medicine  must  be  got,  but  oh !  there  were  so  many  other 
things  indispensable ! 


JENNIE     GEIG.  51 

How  her  heart  was  lifted  up,  as  the  kind  physician  said, 
"  You  may  send  to  the  dispensary  for  it,  however,  and  it 
will  cost  you  nothing !" 

"  Oh  !  thank  you,  doctor,"  said  she  with  a  beaming  face, 
"times  is  so  hard;  we  don't  mean  to  complain,  but  a 
dollar  goes  a  great  ways  with  poor  people ;"  and  then 
with  a  cheerful  step  she  followed  her  visitors  to  the  door, 
internally  blessing  the  benevolent  physician,  and  the  glori 
ous  dispensary  ;  but  her  cup  of  joy  was  full  to  overflowing 
when  she  turned  back  again  into  the  room,  and  found  the 
nice  suit  for  the  sick  girl,  and  a  new  cap  and  warm  sack 
for  herself.  "  This  will  be  so  grand  to  go  to  the  pump 
with,"  said  she,  as  she  laid  it  carefully  away  in  a  box 
which  she  drew  from  under  the  bed.  "  Come  cheer  up, 
Jessie,  better  times  is  coming,  and  it  seems  ongrateful-like 
to  sit  there  moping  when  there  is  so  much  good  fortune  in 
the  house." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

As  the  little  party  reached  Broadway  again,  they  met 
some  officers  leading  a  man  who  had  been  detected  in 
some  dreadful  crime,  and  the  doctor  offered  to  go  to  the 
city  prison  with  Madame  La  Blanche,  that  they  might 
show  Jennie  where  wicked  people  were  confined.  The 
stout  high  walls  looked  very  cheerless  and  gloomy, 
after  the  splendor  and  brightness  of  Broadway,  and  the 
child  dreaded  to  enter  them;  but  she  kept  close  to  her 
guides,  and  as  they  stood  within  the  yard  where  was  a 
green  park,  and  a  pretty  fountain  playing,  she  thought  it 
much  pleasanter  than  the  brown  and  loathsome  places  she 
had  just  left.  Madame  La  Blanche  seemed  to  read  her 
thoughts,  and  said,  "  This  is  very  pretty  and  nice,  my  dear ; 
but  you  shall  tell  me  what  you  think  about  prison  life 
when  we  reach  home  again.  We  have  yet  much  to  .see 
within  these  high  walls ;  very  few  are  allowed  to  walk  in 
this  pleasant  yard."  Then  the  prison  physician  went  with 
them  inside  and  they  wandered  up  and  down  the  long 
corridors,  and  looked  through  the  iron  doors  at  the  crim 
inals,  and  Jennie  shuddered  as  their  guilty  eyes  looked 
out  upon  her  through  the  gratings. 


JENNIE    GRIG.  53 

Here  and  there,  at  the  different  cells,  were  wives,  or 
sisters,  or  mothers,  talking  through  the  massive  bars.  The 
cells  were  capacious,  and  neat,  and  the  prisoners  looked 
careless,  and  indifferent  to  their  punishment ;  but  Madame 
La  Blanche  and  Jennie  both  felt  that  however  light- 
hearted  and  cheerful  they  might  appear  in  the  broad  day, 
with  their  friends  all  about  them,  in  the  darkness  and 
silence  of  the  night,  terrors  must  take  hold  upon  them,  and 
almost  drive  them  mad. 

In  the  female  department,  they  saw  only  those  who  were 
committed  for  vagrancy  and  drunkenness  ;  but  as  they  ob 
served  a  woman  stretched  out  upon  a  bed  in  one  of  the 
cells,  lost  in  the  deep  sleep  of  the  inebriate,  they  thought 
that  no  measures  for  the  abolishment  of  so  beastly  a  vice 
could  be  too  strenuous.  Sitting  in  the  door  of  a  cell  was 
one  with  coarse  features,  bloated,  and  ugly,  hugging  to 
her  depraved  bosom  a  delicate  and  lovely  child.  Madame 
La  Blanche  stopped  to  give  the  weak  mother  a  few  words 
of  wholesome  advice,  and  she  spoke  to  her  of  the  little 
creature  in  her  arms,  and  plead  with  her,  for  her  sake,  if 
from  no  higher  motive,  to  put  away  her  sin.  The  woman 
seemed  touched,  and  hiding  her  face  in  the  child's  neck, 
she  wept.  The  little  blue-eyed  thing  looked  sadly  weary 
of  the  dull  walls,  and  Jennie  longed  to  lead  her  away  from 
the  lonesome  place  to  a  home  as  bright  as  she  had  found. 
She  stroked  her  silken  hair,  and  caressed  her  as  if  she  had 
been  a  sister,  and  giving  her  a  few  toys  from  her  rich 
pocket,  she  hurried  on  to  overtake  her  teacher  who  was 


54  JENNIE     GRIG. 

descending  the  stairs  that  led  to  the  lowest  corridor,  and 
thence  to  the  yard. 

The  night  was  coming  on,  and  husbands  and  wives, 
mothers  and  sisters,  were  leaving  the  prison  walls  with  a 
burden  of  grief  and  shame  for  the  loved  yet  lost  ones 
within  ;  and  as  Jennie  and  her  kind  teacher,  one  hour  later, 
entered  the  peaceful  abode  of  innocence  and  joy,  the  light 
had  wholly  departed  from  the  long  corridors  of  that 
gloomy  building,  and  the  doors  were  closely  secured  upon 
the  shuddering  inmates  of  those  dismal  cells,  who  crept 
into  their  beds,  and  covered  their  heads  with  the  thick 
clothes  to  shut  out  the  demons  that  were  hovering  about 
them  in  the  polluted  air. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  ROSALIE,"  said  Jennie,  as  she  tossed  to  and  fro  upon 
their  soft  bed  that  night ;  "  I  can  not  sleep  for  the  thought 
of  those  poor  creatures  we  saw  to-day.  Come  closer  to  me 
and  put  your  arm  around  me,  every  time  I  close  my  eyes 
some  of  those  miserable  objects  are  before  me  with  their 
pinched  and  haggard  looks.  I  can  not  go  with  Madame 
La  Blanche  again,  for  it  takes  away  all  the  pleasure  and 
beauty  of  uy  life,  and  it  can  do  them  no  good  since  I  have 
so  little  pov")r  to  relieve  them." 

"  But,"  said  Rosalie,  "  Madame  La  Blanche  says  '  it  is 
our  duty  to  visit  them,  even  though  we  have  nothing  to 
offer  them  but  our  sympathy,  and  kind  words  are  often 
better  to  the  poor  then  costly  gifts.'  I  felt  as  you  do 
when  I  first  went  among  them,  but  I  don't  believe  our 
teacher  would  ever  excuse  us  from  going  since  she  thinks 
it  right.  I  should  think,"  continued  Rosalie,  twining  her 
arms  lovingly  about  her  companion,  and  drawing  as  near 
to  her  as  possible,  "  that  what  you  have  seen  to-day 
would  make  you  enjoy  this  pleasant  room,  and  these 
nice  comforts  all  the  more." 


56  JENNIE     GRIG. 

"But,  Rosalie,"  said  Jennie,  "how  can  I  sleep  when 
there  are  so  many  sick  and  weary  ones  down  in  those  dirty 
streets  who  have  no  resting-place  for  their  tired  bodies, 
although  they  need  it  so  much  more  than  I  do  ?  It  makes 
me  uneasy  and  troubled.  Don't  you  think  we  should  be  a 
great  deal  happier  if  all  the  people  in  the  world  had  an 
equal  share  of  the  comforts  of  life  ?" 

"  Sometimes  I  think  so,  Jennie,  but  Madame  La  Blanche 
says  '  it  is  God  that  makes  us  to  differ ;  that  He  gives  to 
some  poverty,  and  to  others  riches,  and  that  if  we  only 
have  contented  minds  we  shall  be  happy,  whether  we  are 
rich  or  poor.' " 

"  That  is  not  exactly  what  I  mean,  Rosalie ;  you  know  I 
am  rich  now,  but  I  am  sad  about  others,  and  don't  you 
suppose  that  people  who  suffer  for  things  that  they  need 
feel  badly  when  they  see  others  with  more  than  enough  for 
their  wants,  so  that  they  even  waste  it  or  throw  it  away." 

"  I  don't  know,  Jennie,  I  suppose  they  must.  It  does 
seem  strange  to  me,  sometimes,  that  some  have  so  much 
more  than  is  necessary  to  their  comfort,  while  others  lack 
even  their  daily  bread ;  but  Madame  La  Blanche,  says  '  we 
must  never  allow  ourselves  to  raise  such  questions,  even  in 
our  own  minds  ;  but  that  we  must  feel  that  whatever  God 
does  for  His  children  is  right,  even  as  we  feel  that  our 
earthly  parents  will  do  every  thing  for  our  best  good, 
though  they  may  do  many  things  that  we  can  not  under 
stand,  and  withhold  from  us  much  that  we  earnestly 
desire.' " 


JENNIE    GEIG.  5*5 

"  Well,  Rosalie,  it  is  a  comfort  to  have  a  higher  wisdom 
than  our  own  to  depend  upon !  that 's  what  my  own  dear 
mother  used  often  to  say  to  me,  and  the  very  day  she 
died — I  never  can  forget  that ! — she  put  her  hand  upon  my 
head,  and  said  'Remember,  my  Jennie,  God  is  to  be  all 
your  wisdom  and  strength,  all  your  wisdom  and  strength.' " 

Poor  child  !  in  her  own.  strength  what  perfect  weakness ; 
even  while  repeating  the  word  she  sunk  into  a  calm  and 
peaceful  slumber,  and  this  weary  world,  with  its  burden  of 
sorrows  and  woes,  faded  away  from  her  mental  vision  also, 
giving  place  to  hopeful  and  cheering  dreams.  Madame  La 
Blanche  entered  the  room,  as  was  her  custom  before  re 
tiring  to  her  own  couch,  and  as  she  looked  upon  the  gentle 
sleepers  before  her,  and  contrasted  them  with  the  pitiable 
ones  who,  perchance  were  even  then  wakeful  and  sinning, 
her  heart  went  up  toward  the  Dispenser  of  all  blessings,  in 
earnest  supplication  that  the  objects  of  her  love  might  be 
ever  preserved  unblemished  in  purity,  and  those  of  her  com 
passion  be  brought  from  their  blackness  and  stain  unto  the 
fountain  of  all  goodness  and  cleansing. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THREE  winters  passed  rapidly  and  profitably  in  the  busy 
school-room,  and  Jennie's  thirteenth  spring-time  found  her, 
with  her  friend  Rosalie,  riding  about  the  lawn  upon  the 
pretty  pony,  or  playing  with  her  golden-haired  sister. 

"Jennie,"  said  Rosalie,  one  lovely  morning  as  they  were 
amusing  themselves  upon  the  lawn ;  "  would  you  not  like 
to  go  to  the  old  Buttonwood  and  swing  ?  All  the  girls 
meet  there,  and  we  have  such  nice  times !"  To  the  old 
Buttonwood  was  quite  a  pleasant  walk  from  Rosalie's 
mother's,  and  they  went  merrily  on,  leading  the  little 
girl,  and  chatting  busily,  when  a  silvery-headed  old  man 
on  a  seat  within  a  garden  near,  attracted  Jennie's  attention, 
and  she  asked  her  companion  who  he  was. 

"  Oh !  that 's  my  '  grandpa,'  as  I  call  him,"  said  Rosalie 
— "  he  is  n't  my  grandpa,  you  know,  but  he  likes  to  have 
me  call  him  so,  and  since  it  makes  him  happier,  why 
should  n't  I  ? — mamma  says  she  has  known  him  for  several 
years,  and  that  he  had  once  a  darling  daughter  who  mar 
ried  against  his  will,  so  that  he  would  never  receive  her  to 
his  house  again,  and  one  day,  when  he  heard  that  she  was 
dead,  he  lost  his  reason ;  but  he  will  not  harm  any  one. 


JENNIE     GRIG.  59 

He  loves  children  dearly,  and  we  often  go  in  to  sit  with 
him  and  talk.  Poor  old  man !  let 's  go  in  now,  Jennie, 
perhaps  he  will  be  glad  to  change  the  scene  a  little" — and 
the  three  girls  went  and  stood  before  the  old  gentleman, 
who  at  first  looked  vacantly  at  them. 

"  It 's  me,  grandpa.  Don't  you  remember  your  own 
dear  little  Rosalie  ?  Jennie,"  continued  she  in  an  under 
tone,  "  you  stand  a  little  behind  me,  and  then  he  will  see 
me  alone  ;"  but  the  old  man  caught  the  words,  and  a  flash 
of  intelligence  for  one  moment  illumined  his  eyes  as  he 
said, 

"  Yes,  that 's  it — Jennie,  dear  little  Jennie !  come  back 
to  your  old  father,  my  darling.  All  day  long  has  he  sat 
by  the  gate  watching  for  you.  Did  you  think  he  was 
angry  with  his  own  precious  child  ?" — and  as  he  spoke  he 
drew  Jennie  to  his  bosom  and  held  her  there  while  he 
murmured  constantly  in  tones  of  endearment,  "  Call  me 
father,  my  pet  child ;  nobody  shall  take  her  away  again  ; 
little  Jennie,  dear  little  Jennie!"  and  he  looked  around 
with  a  sort  of  menacing  air,  as  if  some  one  was  near  who 
would  seek  to  rob  him  of  his  treasure,  and  then  smiled 
fondly  on  the  young  girl,  caressing  her  with  the  deepest 
tenderness. 

"  I  have  n't  seen  him  smile  so  for  many  a  long  year, 
miss,"  said  the  old  butler  who  was  near  them.  "  Will  you 
come  often  to  speak  to  him  ?  It  does  ray  heart  good  to 
see  him  so  like  old  times.  It 's  tk^  name  miss,  it 's  all  the 
name." 


CO  JENNIE     GRIG. 

Jennie  was  somewhat  frightened  by  the  old  man's  eager 
manner,  but  when  she  said  softly,  "  Let  me  go  and  swing 
awhile,  dear  father,  and  then  I  '11  come  to  you  again,"  he 
gently  relaxed  his  embrace  and  kissing  her,  again  let  her 
go. 

His  Jennie  used  to  go  so  often  to  the  "  old  Buttonwood" 
— it  was  all  natural  to  hear  her  speak  of  that ;  and  then 
it  was  so  pleasant  to  have  her  come  again  with  elastic  step, 
and  rosy  cheek,  to  spring  in/o  his  arms  for  her  welcome 
kiss !  Oh,  yes  !  he  was  willing  she  should  go  to  the  "  old 
Buttonwood ;"  but  as  her  slight  figure  vanished  in  the 
distance,  he  seemed  sad  and  uneasy,  and  the  old  expres 
sion  came  again,  and  it  staid  through  the  long  day.  That 
night  as  the  old  butler  stood  in  his  master's  room,  and 
looked  upon  a  lovely  portrait  that  hung  at  the  foot  of  the 
old  gentleman's  bed,  he  kept  repeating  to  himself,  "It 
can't  be  all  in  the  name  ;  the  likeness  is  amazin' !  amazin' !" 

"  Rosalie,"  said  Jennie  the  next  day,  "  Let 's  go  and  see 
the  old  gentleman  again.  Wh^t  's  his  name  ? — you  know 
1  promised  to  return  to  Lim." 

"  His  name  is  Halberg.1' 

"  Does  he  live  alone  in  that  pleasant  place  with  only  the 
servants  to  care  for  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Rosalie,  "  he  has  a  married  son  who  lives 
there  with  him,  but  he  has  gone  to  Europe  with  his  wife 
and  three  daughters,  and  grandpa  stays  alone  until  their 
return.  Mamma  says  they  are  expected  next  month,  and 
Carrie  Halberg  is  to  go  to  Madame  La  Blanche's  school — 


JENNIE    GEIG.  61 

that 's  my  friend,  Carrie ;  she 's  such  a  dear  good  girl ! 
You  '11  love  her,  Jennie,  I  know !  But  there  's  grandpa 
watching  for  us." 

The  old  man  stood  at  the  gate,  leaning  upon  his  cane 
and  looking  intently  down  the  street  toward  the  "  old  But- 
tonwood."  He  had  taken  his  hat  from  his  head  and  was 
shading  his  eyes  with  it,  and  his  thin  locks  were  scattered 
carelessly  over  his  brow.  He  seemed  eager  and  expectant, 
and  as  they  approached  the  gate  they  heard  him  say, 
"  Simon,  you  'd  better  go  to  the  swing  for  little  Jennie ; 
perhaps  she  's  fallen  and  got  a  hurt." 

"  Here  she  is,  sir,"  said  the  butler,  and  the  old  gentle 
man  dropped  his  hat  and  cane  and  opened  his  arms  to  the 
little  girl,  who  sprang  into  them  and  nestled  there  as  if  it 
were  her  happiest  resting-place.  There  was  something  so 
child-like  in  the  old  man's  tenderness  toward  her,  that  she 
returned  it  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  her  youthful  play 
mates.  The  wandering  of  his  intellect  had  robbed  him  of 
that  dignity  and  superiority  which  the  young  stand  so 
much  in  awe  of,  and  although  the  children  respected  him, 
they  felt  that  their  amusements  were  suited  to  his  capaeity 
— therefore  they  crowded  around  the  seat  in  the  garden, 
and  every  day  Jennie  would  sit  beside  him  and  read  or 
sew,  while  he  wound  her  curls  over  his  thin  fingers,  or  the 
three  would  play  beneath  the  old  trees,  while  he  would 
gaze  at  them  as  contentedly  as  if  it  were  the  chief  end  of 
his  existence. 

It  was  sad  to  think  of  separating  them,  but  Jennie  must 


62  JENNIE    GRIG. 

return  to  her  school,  and  the  poor  old  man  be  left  to  his 
weariness  and  vacancy.  On  the  day  of  the  child's  depart 
ure,  he  looked  vainly  for  her  appearance  until  the  time  of 
her  usual  coming  was  passed,  and  then,  with  a  low  moan 
and  a  pitiful  face,  he  sank  back  upon  the  bench.  Old 
Simon  tried  to  arouse  and  interest  him,  but  he  only  shook 
his  head,  and  looked  about  him  with  the  old  air  of  melan 
choly,  and  murmured,  "  Little  Jennie — dear  little  Jennie." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  SIMON,"  said  Mrs.  Halberg,  as  they  were  alighting 
from  their  carriage  at  the  garden  gate  a  few  weeks  after, 
"  how  has  the  old  gentleman  been  during  our  absence  ? 
Does  he  seem  any  thing  like  his  former  self?" 

"  Oh  !  he  's  very  bad,  very  bad,  ma'am,  since  the  young 
lady  that  was  visiting  Miss  Rosalie  left.  He  took  wonder 
fully  to  her,  and  seemed  as  happy  as  could  be  while  she 
was  here.  I  thought,  perhaps,  't  was  the  name,  but  the 
likeness  was  amazin' !" 

The  lady  did  not  hear  the  latter  remark,  but  she  merely 
said,  "  What  was  the  name,  Simon  !"  scarcely  heeding  his 
reply,  as  she  went  up  the  avenue  to  the  house,  stopping  one 
moment  to  say  "  How  d'  ye  do"  to  the  old  man. 

"  Oh  !  'tis  so  pleasant  to  be  home  again  !"  said  Came, 
the  youngest  daughter,  and  springing  lightly  from  the 
carriage,  she  ran  up  to  the  old  gentleman,  and,  throwing 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  she  kissed  him  again  and  again, 
saying  "  'T  was  cruel  to  leave  you  so  long  alone,  dear 
grandpa,  was  n't  it  ?  I  would  n't  give  any  thing  for  all 
Europe  in  comparison  with  this  blessed  home  and  one 
pleasant  day  beneath  these  old  trees;  and  I've  missed 


64  JENNIE     GKIG. 

you  so,  grandpa.  Oh !  'tis  too  pleasant  to  be  at  home 
again !" 

"  Do  save  your  raptures,  Carrie,  until  we  are  free  from 
observation,"  said  her  sister  Ellen,  as  she  went  sauntering 
up  the  walk,  followed  by  her  other  sister,  neither  of  them 
bestowing  more  than  a  glance  upon  their  afflicted  grand 
father. 

A  group  of  village  boys  were  peeping  through  the  fence, 
evidently  much  interested  in  the  arrivals  and  the  affection 
ate  greeting  which  Carrie  bestowed  upon  the  old  man. 

"  Nobody  will  ever  suspect  that  we  have  traveled  if  you 
are  so  unsophisticated  in  your  feelings  and  expressions," 
continued  Ellen;  but  observing  that  her  reproof  received 
no  attention,  she  and  Mary  went  into  the  house,  leaving 
the  sweet  child  with  the  pure  breath  of  nature  all  around 
her,  and  her  own  heart  as  fresh  and  uncontaminated.  The 
old  man  returned  her  caresses,  and  smiled  upon  her  as 
he  said,  "  My  Jennie  !  dear  little  Jennie !" 

Carrie  was  so  delighted  at  her  grandfather's  apparent  joy 
on  seeing  her  that  she  cared  little  for  the  name,  yet  sup 
posing  he  had  only  forgotten  it,  she  said,  "  Carrie,  grand 
pa — Carrie;"  but  he  only  murmured  still,  "Dear  little 
Jennie  !  dear  little  Jennie  !" 

"  What  does  it  mean,  Simon,"  said  she  ;  "  does  n't  he 
remember  me  ?" 

"  'T  was  a  nice  young  lady  that  was  called  Jennie ;  she 
was  here  with  Miss  Rosalie,  and  your  grandpa,  miss,  was 
so  happy  all  the  time  she  staid.  He  has  been  very  low, 


JENNIE    GRIG.  65 

miss,  ever  since  she  left  till  you  came.  Maybe  lie  thinks 
'tis  she  come  again ;  you  're  not  unlike  her,  Miss  Carrie." 

"  Well,  I  '11  be  called  Jennie,  too,  since  you  prefer  it, 
grandpa.  See  what  I've  brought  you!  'way  across  the 
blue  waters,  from  Scotland !  Is  n't  it  a  bonnie  plaid  ?"  and 
she  held  out  before  him  a  real  Highland  shawl,  and,  fold 
ing  it,  threw  it  around  his  shoulders.  "  'Tis  so  nice  to 
Avear  out  here,  dear  grandpa,  when  it  is  chilly." 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  bright  colors,  and  felt  of  the 
soft  wool,  and  then  his  eyes  rested  fondly  upon  his  grand 
child,  who  was  scattering  sugar-plums  among  the  little 
group  without  the  gate.  Eagerly  they  gathered  them  up  in 
their  greedy  hands,  and  went  scampering  off  to  their  homes 
to  exhibit  their  treasures,  while  Carrie  went  to  the  house 
accompanied  by  her  proud  father,  on  whose  arm  the  old 
gentleman  was  feebly  leaning.  That  evening,  as  the  newly- 
returned  party  was  seated  around  the  center-table,  Carrie 
stole  quietly  to  her  grandfather's  room,  and  leaning  her 
elbows  upon  his  knees,  looked  wonderingly  up  into  his 
mild  eyes,  while  he  muttered  softly,  "  Dear  little  Jennie ! 
dear  little  Jennie !" 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

KOSALIE  came  betimes  to  see  her  young  friend,  and  as 
they  walked  together  around  the  garden,  they  had  much 
to  say  about  the  long  journey,  and  the  many  strange 
things  that  Came  had  seen  and  heard,  and  then  they  came 
back  again  to  home  events,  and  to  the  school  that  Rosalie 
had  just  left,  and  that  Carrie  would  soon  enter,  and  this 
led  them  to  speak  of  Jennie,  who  was  to  be  Carrie's  room 
mate. 

"  Has  she  no  other  name  ?"  said  Carrie  to  Rosalie  ;  "  I 
hear  nothing  but  'Jennie,  Jennie,'  all  the  time." 

"  Oh !  her  mother's  name  is  Dunmore — that  is,  her 
adopted  mother.  Her  own  mother  is  dead ;  but  is  n't  it 
strange,  I  never  thought  to  ask  her  what  her  real  name  is! 
You  can  not  help  loving  her,  Carrie,  I  know.  In  the  first 
place,  she 's  beautiful,  and  that  goes  for  something,  I  think ; 
and  then,  she 's  as  good  as  she  is  pretty.  Why,  Carrie,  I 
do  believe  you  are  a  little  like  her !  There,  throw  your  hat 
back,  and  let  your  hair  fall  about  your  shoulders,  so — 'tis 
strange  !  I  should  think  you  were  sisters." 

"  Well,  well,  Rosalie,  I  should  like  to  put  my  hat  on 
when  you  have  done  admiring  me ;  I  suppose  I  shall  see 
this  paragon  of  a  Jennie  on  Monday,  if  I  live." 


JENNIE    GEIG.  67 

"  She  will  not  seem  a  paragon  to  you,  Carrie,  but  a 
simple,  loving,  truthful  girl,  and  before  you  know  it,  you  '11 
have  your  arm  around  her  neck  and  your  lips  to  hers  as 
if  you  had  been  friends  all  your  life." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Madame  La  Blanche,  Rosalie  ? 
Shall  I  be  much  afraid  of  her  ?" 

"  Afraid  of  her  !  Why,  Carrie,  she  's  as  kind  as  my 
own  mother,  and  many  a  time,  when  the  girls  are  sad  or 
home-sick,  she  sends  for  them  to  go  to  her  pleasant  room, 
and  there  she  amuses  them  with  pictures  and  curiosities 
until  they  forget  all  their  sorrows.  She  does  n't  seem  like 
a  school-teacher,  Carrie,  but  like  some  dear  affectionate 
relative." 

"  Well,  it  is  very  pleasant  here  in  my  own  lovely  home, 
and  I  dread  leaving  so  soon  again;  and  then,  there's 
grandpa,  I  can  not  bear  to  be  away  from  him.  Nobody 
seems  to  cheer  him  as  I  can — can  they,  grandpa  ?"  and  the 
dear  child  sat  down  beside  the  old  man  upon  the  bench 
which  they  had  just  reached,  and  looked  thoughtfully  upon 
the  bowed  figure  near  her. 

"  You  '11  come  every  day  to  see  him  while  I  am  gone — 
won't  you,  Rosalie  ?  and  try  to  keep  him  contented  and 
happy  1  It  seems  so  sad,"  continued  she,  "  to  have  no  real 
comfort  in  life  excepting  one  little  gleam,  and  then  to  have 
even  that  taken  from  you !  Never  mind,  grandpa,  Jennie 
will  come  back  again,  soon." 

The  old  man  picked  up,  one  by  one,  some  white  petals 
that  had  fallen  upon  his  knees  from  a  tree  near  them,  and, 


68  JENNIE     GRIG. 

letting  them  drop  again,  said,  "  Don't  stay  long,  dear  little 
Jennie.  Simon,  is  the  swing  safe  ?  You  'd  better  see  that 
it  is  tied  firmly  to  the  branches." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Simon ;  "  I  '11  attend  to  it,  sir.  It  is 
well,  miss,"  he  added,  "  that  we  have  the  old  swing  to  fall 
back  upon.  Every  day  while  you  were  gone,  when  your 
grandpa  seemed  uneasy  about  you,  and  asked  often  for 
you,  I  'd  have  to  say,  '  she 's  down  to  the  old  Buttonwood, 
sir— only  down  to  the  old  Buttonwood ;'  and  then  he  'd 
rest  easy  like.  The  time  seemed  weary  and  long  to  me, 
miss,  as  I  put  him  off  from  day  to  day ;  but  a  year  and  a 
day  is  all  the  same  to  him,  miss — all  the  same." 

"  Well,  Simon,"  said  Carrie,  "  I  'm  so  glad  you  are  here 
with  him ;  I  should  never  take  a  bit  of  comfort  if  you 
were  not.  Even  in  those  strange  countries,  where  there 
was  so  much  that  was  new  and  beautiful  to  interest  me,  I 
could  not  forget  the  dear  old  figure  beneath  the  trees  at 
home,  and  the  thought  that  you  understood  him  and  could 
cheer  him  was  all  that  kept  me  contented  and  happy." 

"  Ah,  miss,  it 's  a  dreadful  bereavement !"  said  the  old 
butler,  shaking  his  head.  Such  a  noble-looking  old  gen 
tleman  as  your  grandfather  was  before  this  came  upon  him ! 
I  used  to  watch  him  as  he  walked  up  and  down  these 
avenues  with  Miss  Jennie,  that 's  dead  and  gone,  upon  his 
arm,  and  a  prouder  father  I  never  saw.  He 's  only  a 
wreck  now,  Miss  Carrie,  a  pitiful  wreck !"  and  the  good 
servant  drew  his  coat-sleeve  across  his  face,  and  turned 
hastily  away. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MEANTIME  frequent  communications  had  passed  between 
Mrs.  Dunmore  and  her  daughter,  and  now  came  glad 
anticipations  of  a  speedy  return  to  the  home  and  child  of 
her  love.  Her  mission  was  accomplished.  "The  silver 
string  was  loosed,  the  golden  bowl  broken ;"  and  the  old 
and  wearied  body  laid  away  for  its  long  and  peaceful  rest. 
For  months  had  she  soothed  its  pains,  and  rendered  its 
pathway  to  the  tomb  easy  and  pleasant,  and  now  that  the 
green  earth  covered  it,  and  its  repose  could  be  no  more 
disturbed,  her  heart  yearned  toward  the  child  of  her  adop 
tion,  and  the  hours  lagged  heavily  that  must  intervene  be 
fore  they  could  meet  again.  Business  transactions  in  con 
nection  with  the  possessions  of  the  deceased  still  required 
her  presence  for  awhile,  and  she  must  yield  to  the  demands 
of  duty.  Jennie  would  have  been  quite  impatient,  had 
not  Carrie  Halberg's  arrival  reconciled  her  to  another 
school  term  before  rejoining  her  mother  in  their  delightful 
home. 

"  Rosalie  has  told  me  so  much  about  you,"  said  she,  as 
she  ushered  her  into  their  cosey  room.  "I  feel  as  if  I 
quite  know  you  already.  It  would  be  strange  if  we  did 


70  JENNIE    GKIG. 

not  know  each  other,  when  we  have  the  same  grandpa, 
would  n't  it  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  Kosalie  told  me  how  fond  grand-pa  was  of 
you,  and  I'm  sure  I  owe  you  a  great  deal  of  affection 
for  going  so  often  to  see  him  while  he  was  alone.  Simon 
said  he  was  sad  indeed  after  you  came  away,  and  that  he 
would  stand  for  hours  by  the  gate  looking  down  the  street 
toward  the  old  Buttonwood  for  you.  I  never  knew  him  to 
fancy  any  one  but  Rosalie  besides  me,  before ;  but  Rosalie 
and  Simon  both  think  we  are  alike,  and  I  suppose  he 
thought  you  were  me." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Jennie ;  "  but  Carrie,  what  made 
him  fancy  the  name  so  ?  I  heard  Simon  say  't  was  all  in 
the  name." 

"  Oh  !  that  was  the  name  of  my  aunt  that 's  dead ;  she 
was  an  only  daughter.  Did  n't  you  see  her  portrait  hang 
ing  in  my  grandfather's  room  ?" 

"  I  was  never  in  the  house,  Carrie,  for  there  were  none 
but  servants  there,  you  know,  and  then  the  garden  was  so 
pleasant !  Was  your  aunt  pretty  ?" 

"  I  never  hear  any  one  but  father  speak  of  her,  and  lie 
often  visits  her  portrait,  and  never  leaves  it  without  weep 
ing — it  is  very  beautiful !  But  you  shall  see  it,  Jennie,  for 
my  father  promises  me  you  shall  return  with  me  to  my 
home.  He  is  so  delighted  to  add  to  my  grandfather's 
comfort  in  any  way.  Isn't  it  dreadful,  Jennie,  to  be  in 
this  lovely  world  with  so  much  around  you  to  charm 
and  please,  and  yet  the  sense  of  enjoyment  gone,  and 


JENNIE     GKIG.  71 

brightness  and  beauty  all  the  same  as  if  it  were  brown 
and  sere?  You'll  find  me  a  dull  companion,  I  fear, 
Jennie,  for  I've  grown  old  and  thoughtful  by  seeing  so 
much  of  poor  grandpa." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  made  thoughtful,  too,  by  past  troubles, 
Carrie !  It  does  n't  need  age  to  bring  sorrows  upon  us." 

"What  griefs  can  have  bowed  those  youthful  heads 
so  early,  my  darlings  ?"  said  Madame  La  Blanche,  who  had 
softly  entered  the  room  and  caught  part  of  Jennie's 
sentence.  It  is  better  to  recount  the  many  mercies  of  our 
lot,  rather  than  to  dwell  upon  the  ills  of  life  !  Indeed, 
our  very  sorrows  often  prove  blessings  to  us  if  we  will  but 
permit  them  to  work  the  effect  designed;"  and  sitting 
down  in  one  of  the  wide  windows,  she  drew  the  young 
girls  to  her  and  placing  one  on  either  side,  there,  while 
the  shadows  were  lengthening  in  the  beautiful  garden,  and 
the  night  came  creeping  silently  on,  she  talked  to  them 
as  a  gentle  mother  would,  of  the  great  object  and  aim  of 
this  mortal  life,  and  the  high  destiny  which  all  may  attain 
if  they  only  so  far  desire  it  as  to  strive  after  it,  and  as  the 
evening  stole  upon  them,  and  the  stars  came  quietly  out  in 
the  mild  heavens,  she  kissed  them  tenderly  and  left  them 
to  the  sweet  influences  of  the  calm  night,  and  of  their  own 
subdued  thoughts.  For  a  long  time  the  two  girls  sat  gazing 
earnestly  upward,  while  one  heart  dwelt  lovingly  upon  the 
old  figure  with  silvery  locks,  and  the  other  upon  the 
spirits  of  her  departed  parents  that  seemed  even  then 
hovering  about  her. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  ONLY  three  weeks  more  to  vacation,"  said  Mary  Hal- 
berg,  as  she  entered  the  parlor  one  morning  with  an  open 
letter  in  her  hand. 

"  What  does  Carrie  say  about  her  young  friend  ?"  said 
her  father,  looking  up  from  his  newspaper.  "Has  she 
prevailed  upon  her  to  accompany  her  home  ?" 

"Oh!  yes,  and  you  know  that  rich  widow  Dunmore, 
whom  we  met  at  the  Springs  ?  Well,  she  's  coming  to 

remain  in while  Jennie  is  with  us.  It  seems  she  has 

carried  out  one  of  her  eccentric  whims  and  taken  some 
foundling  to  be  her  own  child,  and  we  are  upholding  her 
by  admitting  the  girl  to  our  house  on  an  intimate  footing 
with  Carrie." 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Ellen,  "  what  good  all  our  advantages 
of  education  and  travel  will  do  us,  if  we  are  to  mingle  with 
all  sorts  of  people,  and,  as  to  Carrie,  she  is  quite  careless 
enough  now  in  her  choice  of  associates,  without  our  seek 
ing  those  of  the  lower  order  for  her." 

"  No  good,  my  daughters,  will  either  your  knowledge  or 
your  position  do  you,  if  they  are  to  exalt  you  so  far  above 
your  fellow-creatures  as  to  render  any  of  them  contempt- 


JENNIE     Gil  I  G.  73 

iblo  in  your  estimation,"  said  Mr.  Halberg ;  "  I  rejoice  that 
the  heart  of  your  sister  is,  as  yet,  only  susceptible  to  warm 
and  kindly  emotions,  and  I  trust  you  will  both  treat  with 
politeness  the  young  stranger  who — whatever  her  former 
station  in  life  may  have  been — is,  as  the  adopted  child  of 
Mrs.  Dunmore,  entitled  to  every  attention  and  courtesy 
from  us  all." 

Mary  looked  abashed  as  her  father  arose  and  left  the 
room ;  but  her  sister  only  muttered  "  I  'm  sure  it  makes 
no  difference  to  me  whether  she  comes  or  not — 'tis  precious 
little  I  shall  trouble  myself  about  her.  What  do  you  think 
Rosalie  told  me  the  other  day  ?"  continued  she,  addressing 
Mary;  "why,  that  this  Jennie  used  to  sweep  the  dirty 
crossings  of  Broadway,  and  herd  with  vulgar  beggars,  and 
that  Mrs.  Dunmore  took  her  from  this  vile  condition  to  her 
own  house,  as  her  own  child.  It  came  pretty  straight,  for 
one  of  Mrs.  Dunmore's  servants  told  old  Jimmy,  Mr.  Mann's 
coachman,  and  so  it  got  to  Ilattie,  who  is  at  Madame  La 
Blanche's  school." 

"I  thought  Rosalie  was  as  much  in  love  with  her*  as 
Carrie,"  said  Mary. 

"Well,  so  she  is;  but  she  did  not  know  any  thing 
about  this  until  Hattie  Mann  wrote  to  her  the  other  day. 
I  don't  suppose  it  would  make  any  difference  to  her,  how 
ever,  for  she  says  that  Jennie  is  more  lady-like,  and  further 
advanced  in  her  studies  than  any  of  the  girls,  and  that  she 
would  choose  her  for  a  companion  rather  than  any  of  them, 
even  if  she  had  once  been  a  street-sweeper." 
4 


74  JENNIE     GRIG. 

"  Spoken  like  my  own  good  sister,"  said  Henry  Moore, 
thrusting  aside  the  vines  that  shaded  the  window  where 
the  young  ladies  were  sitting.  "  Pardon,  mademoiselles ! 
I  was  not  intentionally  an  eaves-dropper  ;  but  hearing  your 
voices  in  this  direction  I  came  to  seek  you,  and  thus  heard 
that  little  heroic  of  my  pet  Rosalie." 

"  Why,  Henry,  where  did  you  come  from  ?"  said  Mary ; 
"I  thought  you  were  still  safe  within  college  bounds." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Henry,  "  I  left  my  Alma  Mater  in  disgust  yes 
terday  morning.  Did  you  suppose  even  her  kindly  em 
brace  could  keep  me  away  from during  these  pleasant 

months  ?  My  motto  is  '  recreation  as  well  as  labor.'  But 
come,  Nellie,  lay  aside  that  embroidery,  and  go  with  Mary 
and  me  to  Blinkdale — the  sun  has  dried  the  dew,  and  the 
birds  are  having  a  perfect  concert  among  the  old  trees — 
Rosalie  is  waiting  for  us  at  the  gate." 

"Grandpa's  going  too,"  said  Rosalie,  as  her  brother 
and  their  two  friends  reached  her;  "you  must  lead  the 
way,  for  we  have  to  walk  very  slowly  you  know,  and,  tak 
ing  the  old  man's  hand,  she  led  him  as  gently  as  if  he  were 
a  child ;  and  Avhen  they  found  the  pleasant  dale  she  ar 
ranged  a  nice  seat  for  him  in  the  shade,  and  lifting  his  hat 
from  his  head  she  fanned  him  with  it  until  he  seemed  cool 
and  comfortable,  and  then  joined  the  little  group  near. 
Henry  had  watched  her  with  a  heart  full  of  affection,  and 
Mary  could  not  help  being  moved  by  her  quiet  and  natural 
kindness ;  but  Ellen  laughed  heartily  as  she  said  "  You  are 
a  capital  nurse,  Rosalie ;  if  old  Simon  should  happen  to 


JENNIE     GKIG.  75 

drop  oft"  some  day,  we  shall  know  where  to  look  for  a  sub 
stitute." 

Eosalie  blushed  as  she  caught  her  brother's  earnest  eye, 
but  she  only  said  "  I  'm  always  happy  to  wait  on  grandpa. 
Is  n't  Carrie  coming  soon  ?  and  Jennie,  too,"  continued  she. 
' "  I  can  scarcely  wait  much  longer  to  see  them !" 

"Three  weeks  will  soon  vanish,  and  then  I  suppose  you  '11 
have  a  merry  time  together,"  said  Ellen.  Came  writes  in 
high  spirits,  and  one  would  think  from  her  delight  at 
returning  that  there  was  no  place  in  the  whole  world  equal 
to  this  stupid  village." 

"I  don't  consider  it  stupid  at  all,"  said  Rosalie,  with 
some  spirit ;  "  I  am  sure  I  would  not  exchange  it  for  any 
place  I  ever  saw !" 

"  Oh,  well,  Rosalie,  we  all  acknowledge  that  your  means 
of  comparison  are  very  extensive,"  replied  Ellen  ;  "  I  don't 
care  to  quarrel  with  my  native  place,  but  I  must  confess  it 
has  not  so  many  attractions  for  me  as  you  seem  to  see 
in  it," 

Rosalie  did  not  exactly  understand  Ellen's  sneer,  but  the 
remark  disturbed  her  serenity,  and  she  moved  softly  away 
from  the  sisters  and  sat  down  beside  the  old  gentleman, 
weaving  garlands  for  him  to  pull  in  pieces,  and  thinking 
of  the  happy  time,  so  soon  coming,  when  she  could  once 
more  be  with  her  young  companions. 

"  Who  is  this  Jennie  that  my  sister  talks  so  much  about  ?" 
said  Henry. 

"  She 's  a  protegee  of  Mrs.  Dunmore's,  and  manages  to 


16  JENNIE    GRIG. 

win  the  love  of  all  who  know  her,  I  should  think,  from  all 
I  hear  concerning  her,"  said  Mary.  "  She  visited  Rosalie 
while  we  were  in  Europe,  and  my  grandfather  took  a  great 
fancy  to  her  because  of  her  name,  and  my  father  insists 
upon  her  coming  home  with  Carrie  to  spend  the  vacation. 
Perhaps  there  '11  be  another  heart  missing  when  you  see 
her,  Henry." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  the  young  man,  "  it  will  be  hardly 
safe  to  extend  my  term  of  absence  from  my  studies  until 
the  arrival  of  your  guest.  I  don't  see  what  I  am  to  do 
among  such  a  bevy  of  you  girls,"  continued  he,  as  they 
strolled  leisurely  homeward ;  "  it  will  be  rather  a  dangerous 
position." 

"Not  at  all  so,  unless  we  catch  you  eaves-dropping 
again,"  said  Mary,  laughing,  as  he  bade  them  good-morn 
ing,  and  turned  to  assist  Rosalie  in  the  care  of  the  old  man. 
It  was  pleasant  to  see  them  walking  up  the  village  street — 
the  strong  and  vigorous  youth  lending  itself  to  the  support 
of  that  tottering  frame,  and  the  child-like,  rosy  girl  giving 
her  sweet  care  and  sympathy  to  his  withered,  dependent 


CHAPTER  XX. 

SIGNS  of  life  were  again  visible  about  the  great  house 
in  the  avenue.  The  blinds  were  thrown  open,  and  the  rich 
drapery  hung  gracefully  by  the  open  windows.  Grocers' 
and  butchers'  boys  were  hurrying  in  through  the  gates  to 
empty  their  heavy  baskets,  while  little  beggar-children 
emerged  from  them  with  theirs  richly  laden.  The  passers- 
by  looked  gladly  up,  rejoicing  that  the  long-deserted  man 
sion  was  once  more  occupied.  The  walks  were  neatly 
swept,  the  lawns  well  trimmed,  and  the  shrubs  carefully 
trained.  A  little  fountain  leaped  joyously  in  one  of  the 
grass-plots,  pet  canaries  warbled  from  their  cages  among 
the  green  vines,  and  every  thing  around  the  place  be 
tokened  the  approaching  return  of  its  refined  and  tasteful 
mistress.  The  expectant  servants  ran  hither  and  thither 
from  window  to  door,  and  from  door  to  window,  thrusting 
out  their  woolly  heads  at  every  sound  of  carnage-wheels. 
Never  lagged  the  time  so  wearily,  and  never  was  house 
more  joyous  than  that,  as  the  waning  day  brought  the  loved 
ones  beneath  its  roof. 

Mrs.  Dunmore  lay  upon  the  couch  in  her  pleasant  bou 
doir,  weary  and  travel-worn,  yet  not  insensible  to  the 
delight  of  being  once  more  at  home.  By  her  side,  on  a 


78  JENNIE    GKIG. 

low  ottoman,  was  the  child  of  her  adoption,  her  hand 
clasping  that  of  her  mother,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
her  with  tenderness  and  love.  Both  hearts  were  al 
most  too  full  for  utterance  ;  the  mother  seemed  content 
to  watch  the  varying  emotions  as  they  played  upon 
the  face  of  her  sweet  child,  and  the  young  girl  betray 
ed  her  earnest,  affectionate  feelings  in  frequent  but  silent 
caresses.  It  was  such  a  mercy  to  be  spared  so  many 
years  to  meet  again,  and  to  find  each  other  all  that 
they  desired — the  one  the  same  kind,  devoted,  Christian 
mother,  and  the  other  as  warm-hearted  as  ever,  repaying 
all  the  care  and  regard  lavished  upon  her  by  a  correspond 
ing  improvement,  and  by  an  unmeasured  gratitude  and 
esteem.  It  was  such  a  happiness,  too,  to  Mrs.  Dunmore  to 
feel  that,  in  braving  the  world's  opinion  and  taking  to  her 
bosom  an  outcast  and  deserted  one,  she  was  so  fully  com 
pensated  by  the  companionship  of  the  graceful  and  beauti 
ful  girl  who  was  now  competent  to  sympathize  in  all  that 
pleased  or  disturbed  her.  What  was  all  her  wealth,  what 
were  the  elegances  and  luxuries  that  surrounded  her,  what 
the  fashionable  friends  who  crowded  to  welcome  her,  com 
pared  to  that  one  fresh,  trusting,  loving  heart,  that  clung 
to  hers  with  such  strength  and  ardor  of  affection  ! 

Many  a  time  during  their  long  separation  had  her  spirit 
gone  yearningly  out  toward  the  child,  and  now  she  was 
beside  her  again  with  deep  eyes  beaming  earnestly  upon 
her,  and  red  lips  pressed  ever  and  anon  to  her  own  with 
an  overflowing  fondness. 


JENNIE    GRIG.  79 

The  twilight  was  in  the  room,  and  through  its  dimness 
the  little  portrait  on  the  wall  was  visible,  no  longer 
shrouded  in  somber  weeds,  but  in  its  brightness  and 
simplicity  gazing  doAvn  upon  the  two  loving  ones  beneath 
it,  and  seeming  to  share  in  their  deep  and  hallowed  joy. 

The  young  girl  bowed  her  head  until  it  rested  softly 
upon  the  bosom  of  her  mother,  as  she  said,  "It  is  so  sweet 
to  be  here,  dear  mamma !  Often  have  I  walked  past  this 
desolate  house,  with  the  feeling  that  it  might  never  again 
open  to  receive  me,  and  it  seems  so  like  a  dream  that  I 
am  here  once  more,  with  the  cold  world  wholly  shut  out 
from  me,  and  your  warm,  warm  heart  beating  so  close  to 
mine  again !" 

"Has  the  world  indeed  been  cold  to  you,  my  darl 
ing,"  said  Mrs.  Dunmore,  "  and  have  you  found  no  kind 
friends  to  make  my  absence  less  weary  ?  I  had  hoped 
that  Madame  La  Blanche  would  prove  a  fond  and  faithful 
mother." 

"And  so  she  has,  dear  mamma,  but  thoughts  of  the 
past  would  sometimes  come  up  to  trouble  me,  and  then  I 
needed  you  to  help  me  bear  it,  and  to  bring  sunshine  and 
peace  from  it  all.  This  was  at  first  when  I  felt  quite 
alone  in  the  world,  after  you  had  gone ;  but  I  tried  after 
ward  to  do  as  Madame  La  Blanche  said  was  the  better 
way — to  put  every  thing  bitter  from  me,  and  try  to  think 
only  of  the  good  that  was  all  around  me.  "When  we  were 
gloomy  or  dispirited,  she  would  say,  '  I  know  it  is  very  try 
ing,  my  children,  to  be  separated  from  your  parents  and 


80  -I  E  X  X  I  E    G  R  I  G  . 

friends ;  but  you  must  remember  that  so  long  as  you  are 
with  me,  I  stand  in  the  same  relationship  to  you  all ;  and 
that  my  heart  will  be  cast  down  and  pained  if  you  fail  to 
come  freely  to  me  with  all  your  little  burdens  and  sor 
rows.'  She  said  too,  that  'we  were  as  one  dear  and 
pleasant  family,  and  that  each  of  us  must  strive  to  bring 
as  much  brightness  as  possible  into  our  little  household, 
and  then  we  could  not  help  being  happy.'  Nobody 
could  be  kinder  nor  better  than  Madame  La  Blanche,  and 
Rosalie  and  Carrie  were  as  sweet  sisters  to  me ;  but  there 
were  some  things  I  could  never  speak  to  them  about,  and 
I  am  so  glad  that  you  who  know  me  so  truly  are  here 
again!  I  shall  have  nothing  now  to  ask  excepting  that 
you  go  away  from  your  poor  child  no  more." 

"  Never  fear,  my  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Dunmore,  "  nothing 
shall  again  come  between  us  so  long  as  God  permits  us 
to  dwell  upon  the  earth ;  but  we  must  not  forget  to  pre 
pare  for  a  severance  that  must  one  day  come,  so  that  we 
may  be  reunited  where  all  partings  shall  forever,  be 
over." 

Jennie  clasped  still  tighter  the  hand  of  her  mother,  as 
she  thought  how  severely  that  long  separation  would  try 
one  or  the  other  of  them ;  but  she  said  nothing,  for  her 
heart  was  busy  with  the  memory  of  the  loved  ones  who 
had  gone  before  her  to  the  home  above,  and  she  felt  that 
she  had  indeed  many  incentives  to  struggle  for  the  same 
blessed  inheritance. 

The  twilight    went  out  into    thick    darkness,   leaving 


JENNIEGKIG.  81 

the  mother  and  child  to  their  happy  communings  in 
the  boudoir,  amid  the  blest  associations  of  a  cherished 
past. 

The  hum  of  the  streets  was  hushed.  Few  sounds  came 
from  without ;  but  the  silence  that  had  so  long  reigned 
in  the  mansion,  was  broken  by  the  gentle  tones  of  loving 
and  glad  voices. 

4* 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"WELL,  Henry,  how  shall  we  kill  time  this  evening?" 
said  Fred.  Burling  to  Henry  Moore,  as  the  two  colleagues 
sauntered  up  and  down  the  gallery  of  Mr.  Moore's  house. 

"If  by  killing  time  you  mean  spending  the  hours  pleas 
antly,  I  think  we  had  better  go  and  chat  awhile  with 
Mr.  Halberg's  pretty  daughters,"  replied  Henry ;  "  I  believe 
you  consider  yourself  quite  a  connoisseur  in  beauty.  Per 
haps  we  shall  both  find  our  beau-ideal  there  to-night. 
Mary  told  me  they  were  expecting  a  visit  from  a  young 
friend  who  is  skilled  in  captivating  hearts,  and  Rosalie  says 
she  arrived  this  morning.  Have  you  seen  her,  Rosalie  ?" 
continued  he,  addressing  his  sister,  who  appeared  at  the 
door  as  they  were  walking  past  it. 

"  Why,  Henry,  there  are  so  many  hers  in  the  world,  and 
even  in  our  own  little  village,  that  it  would  take  a  better 
clairvoyant  than  myself  to  decide  which  you  mean,"  said 
Rosalie,  glancing  upon  him  with  a  sparkle  in  her  merry 
eye. 

"  I  supposed,"  said  Henry,  "  your  mind  would  be  so  full 
of  your  friend  that  she  would  immediately  occur  to  you  as 
the  object  of  my  inquiry." 


.JENNIE     GKIU.  83 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  I  have  but  one 
friend  !"  answered  the  sister,  with  another  roguish  twinkle 
of  her  mischievous  eye ;  "  because,  dear  brother,  I  have 
a  great,  great  many,  I  flatter  myself;  but  to  tease  you  no 
longer,  I  have  seen  her,  and  she  is  just  as  winning  and 
lovely  as  ever." 

"  Well,  Fred,"  said  Henry,  "  if  it  does  not  appear  too 
formidable  to  your  susceptibility,  we  will  venture  to  meet 
the  young  ladies.  Get  your  hat,  Rosalie,"  he  added,  as 
his  sister  moved  away ;  "  we  need  you  to  enliven  our  walk." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  scarcely  appreciate  so  brilliant  a 
companion,"  said  Rosalie ;  "  but  no%natter,  I  '11  go,  I  may 
glean  a  few  bright  ideas  by  contact  with  a  certain  classical 
duo  that  I  wot  of;"  and  the  blithe  young  girl  hastened 
away,  and  soon  returned  equipped  for  their  stroll. 

"  Miss  Rosalie,"  said  Fred,  as  he  drew  her  hand  within 
his  arm  ;  "  tell  me  all  about  this  friend  of  yours.  I  believe 
that  is  sufficiently  definite  to  distinguish  the  new  comer,  is 
it  not  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  his  companion,  "  I  was  only  bantering 
Henry  a  little ;  but,  really,  Mr.  Burling,  I  have  nothing  to 
tell  you  concerning  Jennie,  excepting  that  we  were  school 
mates  for  a  long  time,  and  that  in  consequence  we  feel  a 
great  deal  of  fondness  and  affection  for  each  other." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Fred,  "  there  was  some  mystery  about 
her  birth  and  history — so  Henry  says." 

"  And  so  there  is  to  me,"  replied  Rosalie,  but  I  can  not 
attempt  to  solve  it,  since  she  was  never  communicative 


84  JENNIE     GRIG. 

with  regard  to  her  early  life ;  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
gossiping  among  the  girls  at  school,  on  account  of  a 
report  which  came  through  an  old  servant  of  Mrs.  Dun- 
more's  that  she  was  of  very  humble  origin  ;  but  she  was  so 
lady-like,  and  so  much  beloved  by  us  all  that  we  quite  dis 
credited  the  story,  although,  for  my  own  part,  I  don't  care 
a  straw  what  her  parentage  was,  since  she  is  worthy  and 
refined." 

"  You  will  perceive,"  said  Henry,  "that  this  little  sister  of 
mine  is  a  very  independent  young  lady,  and  founds  her 
likes  and  dislikes  upon  her  own  opinions,  rather  than  upon 
the  prejudices  and  conventionalities  of  society." 

"  It  is  well,"  returned  Fred,  "  that  there  are  some  who 
make  merit  or  demerit  the  distinguishing  marks  instead  of 
rank  or  Avealth.  I  confess  that  my  own  notions  wholly  ac 
cord  with  those  of  Miss  Rosalie.  What !  are  we  here  so 
soon  ?"  continued  he,  as  they  reached  the  entrance  to  Mr. 
Halberg's  grounds. 

"  I  should  think  we  were  in  the  region  of  the  Dryads  !" 
said  Henry,  as  several  white  figures  were  visible  amid  the 
trees.  "Who's  eaves-dropping,  now,"  added  he,  as  Mary 
came  suddenly  upon  him  from  behind  a  neighboring  shrub. 

"  I  plead,  not  guilty,"  said  Mary ;  "  but,  Henry,  where 
are  your  offerings?  you  should  not  come  into  the  presence 
of  deities  without  suitable  gifts." 

"  Permit  me  to  present  to  you  my  friend  Mr.  Burling, 
Miss  Halberg,"  said  Honry,  as  the  young  man  approached 
with  Rosalie  and  Ellen. 


JENNIE    GRIG.  85 

"  You  see  I  have  not  forgotten  the  custom  to  bring  some 
propitiatory  sacrifice." 

"  A  very  acceptable  one  in  these  days  of  dearth,"  said 
Mary,  blushing.  "  We  are  a  very  secluded  race,"  continued 
she,  addressing  Mr.  Burling,  "  and  the  arrival  of  friends  is 
quite  an  era  in  our  quiet  life." 

"  It  is  a  wonder  that  we  do  not  wholly  vegetate,"  said 
Ellen.  "  Do  not  you  think,  Henry,  that  we  are  in  danger 
of  dissipating  too  much,  now  that  our  coterie  is  so  greatly 
enlarged  ?" 

The  young  man  looked  thoughtfully  upon  her  for  a 
moment,  and  then  replied  "  There  needs  not  an  increased 
circle,  nor  the  seductions  of  a  fashionable  clique,  Nellie,  to 
lead  us  to  excess ;  the  soul  may  run  riot,  and  indulge  in 
vain  repinings  for  the  follies  and  vanities  of  life,  even  in 
the  remotest  solitudes.  But  come,  let  us  go  to  the  piazza, 
I  see  your  youngest  sister  there,  and  wish  also  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  your  guest." 

Just  then  Carrie  and  Jennie  espied  Rosalie,  and,  running 
forward,  met  her  with  the  warmest  manifestations  of  de 
light,  and  seizing  upon  her,  they  hurried  her  on  to  see 

• 
grandpa,  who  sat  in  his  arm-chair  on  the  piazza,  with  the 

cool  breeze  refreshing  his  fevered  brow. 

It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  the  three  young  girls  just  burst 
ing  into  womanhood,  with  their  earnest  and  pure  natures, 
ministering  to  the  faint  old  man  who  was  fast  wasting 
away  from  this  earthly  being.  Henry  and  his  friend  were 
deeply  impressed  by  it,  and  dreaded  to  disturb  so  charming 


86  JENNIE    GRIG. 

a  picture,  but  as  they  advanced  to  greet  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Halberg,  Carrie  sprang  to  meet  her  old  friend  Henry,  and 
leading  him  to  her  grandfather's  seat,  introduced  him  to 
Jennie,  and  placed  a  chair  for  him  by  her  side.  The  young 
girl  looked  up  with  a  sweet  smile  as  he  asked  her  some 
question  concerning  her  escape  from  school,  and  shaking 
back  the  heavy  mass  of  ringlets  that  shaded  her  forehead, 
she  replied,  "  School  was  any  thing  but  a  prison-house  to 
me,  yet  I  love  very  much  to  be  occasionally  free  from  a 
fixed  routine  of  duties,  especially  when  I  find  so  pleasant  a 
retreat  as  this,  and  so  dear  a  charge  as  grandpa.  We  all 
have  a  care  for  him,"  she  added,  taking  in  Carrie  and 
Rosalie  with  her  fond  glance. 

"  Grandpa's  shoulders  ought  to  be  very  broad  to  support 
so  many  descendants,"  said  Ellen,  looking  scornfully  at 
their  beautiful  guest.  "  Henry,  why  do  you  not  aspire  to 
so  distinguished  a  relationship  ?" 

"  People  often  aspire  to  that  which  they  can  not  attain," 
said  Henry,  with  a  look  of  quiet  but  deep  earnestness  at 
Jennie,  whose  eyes  sunk  under  his  gaze,  and  whose  heart 
swelled  with  emotion  at  the  thought  of  her  own  isolated 
fate.  "  No  father,  no  mother,  no  kindred,"  felt  she,  "  and 
even  the  love  of  this  weak  old  man  grudged  me  by  one 
who  has  all !"  She  said  nothing  more  while  the  visitors 
remained,  but  sat  with  the  palsied  hand  in  her  soft  palm, 
dreaming  of  the  time  when  she  should  be  gathered  into  the 
bosom  of  a  ransomed  family,  and  her  spirit  grew  calm  with 
the  thought,  so  that  when  Rosalie  and  the  young  men 


JENNIE    GRIG.  87 

arose  to  leave,  and  asked  her  to  join  them  in  a  little  ex 
cursion  on  the  morrow,  she  answered  them  with  a  beaming 
and  glad  face. 

"  Fred,"  said  Henry,  as  they  left  the  gate,  "  I  never  can 
forget  that  face.  Did  you  see  how  almost  heavenly  it  was 
as  she  stood  by  old  Mr.  Halberg  when  we  left  ?" 

"  It  was  indeed  a  lovely  picture,"  said  Fred  ;  "  the  old 
bowed  head  with  the  evening's  breath  moving  the  gray 
hair,  and  that  delicate  girl,  with  her  white  dress  glistening 
in  the  moon-beams,  and, with  the  seraphic  expression  on 
her  brow !" 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

» 

"  ELEANOK,"  said  Mr.  Halberg  to  his  -wife,  after  the  young 
people  had  retired  to  rest,  "  there  is  something  very  singu 
lar  about  that  girl.  She  is  so  like  our  departed  Jane  that 
she  awakens  my  deepest  interest.  Did  you  notice  her 
manners,  at  once  so  child-like  and  so  mature  ?  I  must  in 
quire  more  particularly  about  her  of  Mrs.  Dunmore;  it 
strikes  me  she  is  no  common  child." 

"  I  paid  no  especial  attention  to  her,"  replied  the  wife  ; 
"  she  is  sufficiently  long  under  the  influence  of  a  refined 
example  to  overcome  all  taint  of  birth  and  early  habit, 
however." 

"  I  tell  you,  wife,"  said  the  husband,  •"  there  's  an  innate 
pride  and  dignity  about  the  girl  that  no  training  could 
effect.  I  watched  her  all  the  evening,  and  could  detect 
nothing  but  -fee  most  perfect  ease  and  grace.  Her  face, 
too,  haunts  me.  Do  you  remember  how  pure  and  earnest 
the  expression  of  Jane's  eye  was  ?  Well,  there 's  the  same 
look  in  that  young  girl's,  so  that  I  longed  to  take  her  to 
my  heart  and  call  her  sister.  If  we  had  not  learned  with 
such  apparent  certainty  about  the  death  of  the  child  I 
should  say  this  was  she,"  soliloquized  he,  as  his  wife  left 


JENNIE    GRIG.  89 

the  room  for  one  moment,  and  resuming  the  subject  as  she 
returned.  "  Why,  Eleanor,  how  long  is  it  since  my  father 
lost  his  reason  ?" 

"  About  four  years,  I  believe,"  replied  Mrs.  Halberg. 

"  And  our  poor  Jane  had  been  twelve  years  away,  and 
her  little  one  was  born  three  years  after  her  marriage,  and 
this  child  is — how  old  did  you  say,  wife  ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Frank;  but  what  possesses 
you  ?  Have  you  any  idea  that  Jane's  child  is  still  living  ? 
and  if  it  were  so  and  we  should  ever  find  it  out,  are  you 
not  aware  how  materially  it  would  affect  our  own  chil 
dren's  share  of  their  grandfather's,  property?"  said  Mrs. 
Halberg,  blushing  for  very  shame,  as  she  encountered  her 
husband's  searching  and  grieved  eye. 

"  Eleanor,"  said  he,  "  my  sister  was  bitterly  wronged ! 
God  only  knows  how  and  what  she  suffered,  not  only  from 
the  neglect  and  desertion  of  her  kindred ;  but  from  the 
stern  pinchings  of  want.  For  my  own  part,"  continued 
he,  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  sighing  deeply, 
"  I-  would  be  willing  to  forfeit  all  the  inheritance  if  by  that 
means  I  could  make  some  reparation  for  the  cruel  past !" 

"  Well,  well,  Frank,  it  can  not  be  helped  now  !  Since  it 
is  all  over,  why  not  let  it  go  without  troubling  yourself 
with  vain  regrets  ?" 

"  Those  are  not  vain  regrets,  Eleanor,"  said  the  husband, 
"  which  purify  the  soul.  My  father  has  been  spared  the 
agony  of  remorse  for  the  one  great  error  of  his  life,  by  a 
merciful  Providence  which  has  made  the  sad  past  oblivious 


90  JENNIE    GRIG. 

to  him ;  but  ray  heart  would  be  hardened  indeed,  if  it 
should  cease  to  feel  an  intense  sorrow  for  the  wrongs  com 
mitted  against  the  patient  and  sainted  one." 

Mrs.  Halberg  was  touched  by  her  husband's  unfeigned 
grief.  He  had  never  spoken  so  fully  to  her  before,  on  a 
subject  which,  by  common  consent,  all  the  family  had 
avoided,  and  she  knew  not  until  now  how  weighty  had 
been  the  burden  of  his  secret  repinings.  Before  the  world 
he  was  unbending  and  reserved  ;  but  now  as  he  sat  in  the 
solitude  of  his  chamber,  with  only  his  wife's  eye  upon  him, 
save  that  of  the  Omniscient,  the  proud  man  yielded  to  a 
long  pent-up  emotion,  and  wept  like  a  child.  "  Eleanor," 
said  he,  as  he  felt  the  tears  from  other  eyes  mingling  with 
his  own,  "  tell  me  that  if  it  is  ever  in  our  power  to  make 
restitution  for  the  sins  of  other  years,  you  will  aid  me  with 
all  your  power,  even  if  it  were  to  our  own  pecuniary  loss  ?" 

The  Avife  placed  his  hand  fondly  upon  the  heart  that 
was  beating  for  him  so  truly,  and  kissing  him  tenderly, 
murmured,  "  My  husband,  I  promise  !" 

"  If,"  continued  he,  "  it  should  prove  upon  thorough  in 
vestigation — which  has  been  already  too  long  delayed — 
that  the  child  of  my  sister  was  spared,  and  is  even  now 
living,  will  you  take  her  to  your  home  and  cherish  her  as 
one  of  your  own  children,  so  that  she  may  feel  no  want  of 
sympathy  and  love  ?" 

With  the  hand  still  upon  the  life-spring,  the  affectionate 
wife  earnestly  answered,  "  My  husband,  I  will.  But  why," 
said  she,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  do  you  doubt  the 


JENNIE     GRIG.  91 

truth  of  the   report,  that  you  have   hitherto   considered 
credible  ?" 

"  It  never  occurred  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Halberg,  "  that  it 
might  be  false,  until  to-night ;  but  Eleanor,  presentiments 
come  sometimes  upon  us  with  all  the  force  of  a  certain 
conviction,  and  my  conscience  will  never  be  easy  until  I , 
make  some  effort  to  find  out,  beyond  the  shadow  of  doubt, 
whether  my  sister's  child  is  wandering  upon  the  earth, 
yearning  for  kindred  and  home,  or  is  gathered  to  the 
home  which  is  brighter  than  any  this  world  can  afford. 
What  first  awakened  these  thoughts  within  me,  was  the 
sight  of  a  gipsy  woman  to-day.  She  stopped  me  in  the 
street  to  beg  a  few  pennies,  and  by  the  hand  she  held  a 
gentle  little  creature  of  five  or  six  years  old,  which  I  was 
confident  could  not  be  her  own.  Visions  of  a  bereaved 
and  mourning  family,  and  of  the  future  of  the  delicate 
child,  troubled  me,  and  the  feeling  that  one  bound  to  me 
by  a  dearer  tie  than  that  of  humanity,  might  be  roaming 
amid  the  vicious  and  low,  smote  me  with  such  cruel  misery 
that  I  have  not  since  been  able  to  regain  my  wonted 
calmness,  and  the  coming  of  this  beauteous  child,  so  like 
my  sister,  has  excited  my  anxieties  and  fears  still  more." 

"  I  doubt  not  but  that  it  is  all  a  fantasy  of  the  imagina 
tion,  Frank.  You  had  better  take  a  composing  draught, 
and  to-morrow  will  find  you  more  cheerful,"  said  the  wife. 

"  I  know  of  none  more  soothing,"  replied  Mr.  Halberg, 
as  he  prepared  for  his  night's  repose,  "than  a  spirit  at 
peace  with  God  and  man." 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

"  JENNIE,"  said  Carrie  the  next  morning,  "  come  with 
me  and  we  '11  get  a  peep  at  the  portrait.  I  saw  father  go 
into  the  room  a  moment  since,  and  grandpa's  out  on  the 
piazza.  We  '11  step  softly  just  inside  the  door,  for  father 
never  likes  to  be  disturbed  when  he 's  there." 

With  their  arms  about  each  other's  waists  the  two 
friends  went  skipping  along,  until  they  reached  the  apart 
ment  appropriated  to  the  old  gentleman.  The  door  was 
partially  open  and  they  could  see  through  the  crack  the 
dark  figure  of  Carrie's  father  standing  with  his  back  to 
ward  them.  The  room  seemed  very  bright  and  cheerful, 
and  the  rich  colors  of  a  gay  carpet,  and  the  elaborate 
carving  of  the  massive  and  antique  furniture  rendered  it 
still  more  pleasant  and  attractive.  As  they  were  about  to 
cross  the  threshold,  and  Carrie  had  her  hand  against  the 
door  to  push  it  open  still  further,  Jennie  whispered,  "  Stop 
a  minute,  Carrie,  my  heart  beats  so! — I'm  afraid  your 
father  will  not  like  it  if  we  intrude  upon  him  now  !  You 
know  there 's  something  very  sacred  in  one's  sorrow  !" 

Mr.  Halberg,  meanwhile,  had  withdrawn  the  black  vail 
which  had  obscured  the  portrait  since  his  sister's  marriage, 


JENNIE     GKIG.  93 

and  stood  thoughtfully  gazing  upon  the  lovely  features, 
and  comparing  them  with  those  of  the  young  girl,  whose 
image  filled  his  mind.  "  It  is  very  strange,"  mur 
mured  he ;  "  the  same  waving  mass  of  hair,  the  same 
beautifully-arched  brows  and  long  lashes,  and  the  liquid 
eyes,  melting  one  with  their  subduing  pathos;  the  very 
expression  so  like,  too !  It  is  very  wonderful !  very  won 
derful  !"  and  he  wiped  away  a  tear  that  betrayed  the  depth 
and  earnestness  of  his  feelings. 

"  Come,  Jennie — father  will  not  see  us,"  said  Carrie, 
gently  pulling  her  within  the  door,  "  he  gets  so  absorbed !" 

As  Jennie  entered  the  room  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
place  where  Mr.  Halberg  stood.  That  moment  the  sun 
light  came  through  the  windows,  casting  a  bright  gleam 
upon  the  beautiful  portrait,  and,  stretching  out  her  arms 
toward  it,  the  young  girl  faintly  cried,  "My  own  blessed 
mother !"  and  sunk  senseless  to  the  floor. 

In  one  moment  Mr.  Halberg  was  beside  her,  and  raising 
her  gently  he  placed  her  upon  the  bed,  and  with  a  face  as 
colorless  and  rigid  as  her  own,  awaited  her  return  to  con 
sciousness,  applying  the  proper  restoratives  with  a  calm 
and  skillful  hand.  Carrie  had  loosened  her  dress,  and  as 
she  did  so,  a  miniature  fell  upon  the  bed.  Her  father 
looked  eagerly  upon  it,  and  with  tremulous  fingers  pressed 
a  spring  upon  the  back.  It  was  indeed  his  sister's  likeness, 
placed  beyond  dispute  by  the  convincing  inscription,  "  Jane 
Halberg,  to  her  beloved  daughter,  Jennie  Grig !" 

This,  then,  was  the  child  of  that  precious  one  who  had 


94  JENNIE     GKIG. 

roamed  with  him  through  the  sunny  paths  of  infancy  and 
youth,  but  whose  maturer  years  were  overshadowed  by 
adversity  and  gloom !  God  had  sent  a  pitying  heart  to 
her  in  the  hour  of  her  saddest  need,  and  had  gently  led 
her  back  to  the  home  whence  her  mother  had  been  cruelly 
banished ;  that  mother  He  had  received  into  more  beau 
teous  mansions,  but  the  child  was  left,  to  fulfill  a  noble  and 
glorious  mission  among  those  who  had  hitherto  deemed 
her  as  helpless  in  the  grave  !  Strangers  had  proved  better 
than  those  of  her  own  household  to  the  outcast  and  or 
phan,  and  had  nurtured  and  cared  for  her  while  they  were 
contenting  themselves  with  the  report  that  she  had  gone 
where  no  earthly  care  avails.  Only  the  evening  before 
had  she  sat  in  the  midst  of  her  relatives,  with  a  sad  feeling 
of  isolation — now  they  were  gathered  about  her  with 
evidences  of  an  awakening  love  and  tenderness.  It  was 
pleasant  to  shut  her  eyes  and  open  them  again  upon  so 
glad  a  revelation !  So  thought  Jennie  as  she  gazed  upon 
her  new-found  connections,  who  crowded  around  with 
exclamations  of  surprise  and  affection.  Carrie,  then,  was 
her  own  cousin !  and  the  great  heart  against  which  she 
was  so  fondly  pressed  was  warm  with  kindred  blood? 
Grandpa,  too,  had  fondled  and  caressed  her  idolized 
mother,  and  even  his  wandering  faculties  had  detected 
her  lineage,  so  that  he  had  clung  to  her  for  some  better 
reason  than  an  impulsive  and  wayward  fancy! 

"Speak  not  now,  my  darling,"  said  Mr.  Halberg,  as 
Jennie  made  an  effort  to  say  something  to  him,  "  but  put 


J  E  X  N  I  E     G  K  I  G  .  95 

your  anns  around  my  neck,  and  let  me  feel  by  this  mute 
expression  that  the  past  is  forgiven ;  I  am  not  yet  able  to 
bear  one  word  from  the  child  of  my  deserted  sister." 

The  young  girl's  lips  were  still  parted,  but  the  loving 
arms  twined  closely  around  her  uncle,  and  although  no 
verbal  absolution  came,  he  felt  that '  the  past  would  never 
again  haunt  him  with  its  spectral  figure,  but  that  his  sis 
ter's  blessing  would  come  to  him  through  the  child  who 
now  lay  so  fondly  upon  his  bosom. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THREE  more  years  had  mingled  with,  the  past,  and  yet 
Mrs.  Dunmore  and  Jennie,  who  had  now  developed  into  a 
mature  and  perfect  beauty,  lingered  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Halbergs.  Not  that  they  had  any  idea  of  sundering  the 
ties  that  so  closely  united  them,  or  of  claiming  a  place  for 
the  orphan  in  the  home  of  her  newly-found  kindred,  but 
the  old  man  clung  with  such  touching  fondness  to  his  be 
loved  grandchild,  and  grew  so  frantic  if  she  left  him,  even 
for  a  few  days,  that  it  seemed  a  sacred  duty  to  give  them 
selves  up  to  his  few  remaining  years ;  and  as  from  month 
to  month  they  perceived  a  manifest  dawning  of  light  up 
on  his  bewildered  intellect,  it  became  rather  a  pleasure 
than  a  sacrifice  to  forego  all  those  amusements  and  comforts 
that  interfered  with  his  peculiar  fancies  or  desires.  Mrs. 
Ilalberg  would  remonstrate,  and  Ellen  would  sneer,  as  the 
young  girl  denied  herself  the  companionship  of  her  youth 
ful  associates  in  order  to  be  with  and  cheer  her  aged  rela 
tive;  but  Jennie  would  place  her  hand  gently  upon  his 
silvery  head,  and  say,  in  her  quiet,  subduing  way,  "It  will 
not  be  very  long,  dear  auntie !" 


JENNIE     GKIG.  97 

Nor  was  it  very  long,  for  every  day  the  tottering  knees 
grew  more  and  more  feeble,  until  at  length  the  old  seat 
in  the  garden  was  altogether  abandoned  for  the  pleasant 
room ;  and  there,  by  the  window,  in  the  warm  sunlight, 
would  the  shadow  of  a  majestic  being  crouch,  shivering 
through  the  summer  days,  while  a  soft  and  low  voice 
read  and  chatted  away  the  otherwise  weary  hours. 

But  the  old  figure  stays  not  long  in  the  sunlight,  for  the 
messengers  have  come  for'him,  and  the  hour  of  his  depart 
ure  is  near,  and  prostrate  upon  his  bed  he  awaiteth  the 
final  summons.  It  was  Jennie's  sixteenth  autumn,  and  as 
she  sat  beside  her  grandfather's  couch  with  his  shriveled 
fingers  in  her  warm  clasp,  the  old  man  turned  his  head 
upon  his  pillow,  and,  looking  intently  upon  her,  said,  "  My 
child,  I  have  been  dreaming.  I  have  slept  a  long,  long 
time ;  but  I  am  wide  awake  now,  and  I  know  it  all.  It  has 
come  to  me  slowly  and  painfully,  and  I  shall  not  forget  it 
again." 

"  What  is  it,  grandpa  ?"  said  Jennie ;  "  you  are  weak 
and  ill  now,  and  must  not  talk,  I  am  your  little  nurse  you 
know,  and  Dr.  Wright  says  '  I  must  keep  you  quite  still  if 
I  would  have  you  get  well  again.' " 

"Isn't  your  name  Jennie  Grig?  and  is.  not  that  your 
mother  ?"  continued  her  grandfather,  rising  upon  one  elbow 
and  pointing  to  the  portrait  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  "  You 
was  a  young  thing  when  she  died,  Jennie,  and  I  meant  to 
find  you  out  and  bring  you  home ;  but  I  could  do  nothing 
while  the  strange  dream  was  upon  me.  It  was  just  as 

5 


98  J  E  >•  N  I  E     G  R  I  G . 

well,  for  she  brought  you  to  me  with  her  angel  hands,  and 
that  made  the  dream  pleasant  to  me ;"  and  the  old  man 
sunk  back  upon  his  pillow.  He  lay  quietly  for  some  time, 
and  Jennie  thought  he  was  sleeping,  but  as  she  motioned 
Simon  to  take  her  place  by  the  bed,  and  tried  gently  to 
relax  her  hand  from  that  of  her  grandfather,  he  tightened 
the  pressure,  and  spoke  again  in  a  feeble  tone.  "  I  shall 
not  get  well  again,  Jennie,  I  'm  going  to  your  mother ;  but 
I  can  not  die  yet.  Call  your  uncle  to  me,  and  leave  us 
for  awhile,  I  must  make  it  right  again."  Jennie  was  more 
surprised  and  frightened  at  her  grandfather's  calm  and 
rational  manner  than  she  would  have  been  by  any 
strange  or  frenzied  actions ;  but  she  had  heard  that 
reason  often  wholly  resumes  its  throne  as  the  hour  of 
dissolution  approaches,  and,  thinking  that  life  might  be 
fast  ebbing,  she  hastened  to  summon  her  uncle,  who  was 
soon  in  his  father's  presence. 

His  heart  leaped  for  joy  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  the  old 
gentleman  was  sufficiently  sane  to  alter  his  will,  which  had 
been  made  in  a  moment  of  passion,  and  had  cut  off  the 
inheritance  from  his  daughter ;  and  both  seemed  relieved 
of  a  sore  burden  when  the  papers  were  re-executed  and  the 
child  was  made  sure  of  her  rightful  portion. 

Her  grandfather  tremulously  affixed  his  signature  as 
Jennie  returned  to  him  followed  by  her  aunt  and  cousins. 

A  peaceful  smile  was  upon  the  dying  man's  face  as  he 
looked  upon  the  little  group  that  surrounded  him,  and 


JENNIE     GKIG.  99 

said,  with  a  solemn  emphasis,  "  My  children,  be  kind  and 
forgiving — forgiving."  Then  closing  his  eyes,  he  mur 
mured  "  dear  little  Jennie !  dear  little  Jennie !"  and  slept 
to  awake  no  more  to  the  pains  and  ills  of  life. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

HENRY  MOORE  had  been  a  frequent  visitor  at  Mr.  Hal- 
berg's  during  Jennie's  sojourn  there,  and  so  lovely  a  char 
acter  as  hers  could  not  fail  to  awaken  in  his  bosom  a 
deeper  feeling  toward  her  than  that  of  friendship  ;  yet  so 
calmly  had  the  time  glided  away  that  they  had  spent  to 
gether,  and  so  far  from  his  mind  had  been  the  idea  of  a 
separation,  that  he  was  scarcely  aware  of  the  nature  of  his 
emotions  until  she  announced  to  him  her  approaching 
departure  from  her  uncle's. 

They  were  standing  together  in  a  little  summer-house  in 
the  garden,  a  few  weeks  after  the  old  man's  death,  and 
Carrie  was  with  them,  when  Jennie  looked  sadly  out  upon 

the  old  seat  that  had  been  left  vacant  beneath  the  trees, 

1     .,     -j 
and  said : 

"  Don't  let  them  remove  that,  when  I  am  away,  Carrie, 
darling.  You  know  it  is  all  that  restored  to  me  my 
relatives." 

"  Are  you  going  to  leave ,  Jennie  ?"  said  Henry, 

with  a  sudden  start  which  made  both  the  girls  gaze  eagerly 
at  him.  Jennie  did  not  perceive  the  deep  flush  that  over 
spread  his  face ;  but  Carrie  observed  it,  yet  thinking  it 


JENNIE     GEIG.  101 

better  to  appear  as  if  she  had  noticed  nothing  unusual,  she 
picked  an  autumn  bud,  that  had  obtruded  itself  within  the 
trellised  window,  and  quietly  handing  it  to  him,  said, 

"  Every  thing  that  we  love  seems  to  be  going  from  us  at 
this  dreary  season,  Henry.  Even  that  last  bud  would  have 
faded  from  me  with  the  next  few  chilly  hours.  Perhaps 
it  is  well,"  she  continued,  "  that  we  can  not  have  the  good 
and  the  beautiful  always  around  us,  we  might  forget  our 
unfading  inheritance !" 

Henry  did  not  answer,  for  he  could  not  trust  himself  to 
speak  just  then ;  but  Jennie  turned  to  the  window  that 
overlooked  the  village  churchyard  where  her  grandfather's 
grave  was  made,  and  repeated,  in  a  low  voice,  that  beauti 
ful  hymn  of  Mrs.  Heman's,  "Passing  Away."  As  she 
came  to  the  verse, 

"  Friends  I  friends  I  oh,  shall  we  meet 
In  a  land  of  purer  day, 
Where  lovely  things  and  sweet 
Pass  not  away  ?" 

her  voice  faltered,  and  she  did  not  attempt  to  finish,  but 
sinking  upon  a  bench  near  her,  she  wept  unrestrainedly. 

"  Quite  a  tragic  scene !  Whose  benefit  is  it  to-day,  Car 
rie1?"  said  Ellen  Halberg,  who  that  moment  approached 
the  summer-house. 

"  No  wonder  Jennie  feels  some  sorrow  at  leaving  a  spot 
where  we  have  spent  so  many  happy  hours,"  said  Carrie, 
"  one  must  have  no  heart,  to  break  away  from  friends  with 
out  any  manifestation  of  regret." 


102  JENNIE    GRIG. 

"  Oh  !  I  can  easily  conceive  of  its  being  a  great  grief  to 
leave  a  place  where  she  finds  so  many  attractions  as  here," 
said  Ellen,  looking  significantly  at  Henry,  who  was  men 
tally  contrasting  the  two  girls  so  nearly  allied,  yet  so  un 
like. 

"Doubtless  your  cousin  has  emotions  which  you  can 
neither  understand  nor  appreciate,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  he, 
with  somewhat  of  sarcasm  in  his  tone.  "  There  are  minds 
so  constituted,  that  wherever  they  dwell  they  form  attach 
ments  which  are  not  easily  loosed !" 

"  Oh !  I  fully  sympathize  in  Jennie's  distress,"  said 
Ellen,  mockingly  holding  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

Not  for  worlds  would  she  have  committed  that  one 
thoughtless  act,  had  she  known  how  contemptible  it  would 
make  her  in  the  estimation  of  him  whom  she  most  cared 
to  please !  Henry  Moore  of  all  others  was  the  object  of 
her  especial  regard.  From  their  childhood  they  had  been 
thrown  constantly  together,  and,  until  the  coming  of  her 
cousin  among  them  she  had  appropriated  him  to  herself  as 
a  lawful  and  undisputed  right.  All  the  villagers  had 
looked  upon  their  union  as  a  "  settled  thing,"  and  no  doubt 
Henry  would  gladly  have  fulfilled  their  prophecies  if 
Ellen's  maturer  years  had  verified  the  promise  of  an  earlier 
age ;  but  as  he  saw  her  give  way  to  petty  envies  and 
jealousies,  and  to  an  uncontrolled  and  vindictive  temper, 
he  turned  from  her  to  the  study  and  contemplation  of  her 
sweet  and  gentle  cousin.  No  wonder  he  became  a  wor 
shiper  of  so  pure  an  image,  rather  than  pay  homage  to  a 


JENNIE    GRIG.  103 

distorted  object.  Jennie  meanwhile,  was  wholly  uncon 
scious  of  the  interest  she  excited.  So  completely  had  her 
mind  been  occupied  in  contributing  to  her  grandfather's 
comfort,  that  she  sought  no  other  affection,  and  so  long  as 
her  friends  looked  kindly  upon  her,  she  was  too  happy  to 
question  their  feeling  toward  her.  One  only  sorrow  had 
she  experienced  since  her  restoration  to  her  kindred,  and 
that  was  in  her  cousin  Ellen's  continued  ill-will  and  hatred 
toward  her.  Perhaps  she  might  have  succeeded  in  win 
ning  her  to  an  opposite  feeling,  by  the  little  acts  of 
courtesy  and  love  so  constantly  shown,  if  the  demon 
jealousy  had  not  insinuated  itself  into  Ellen's  bosom. 

Was  it  a  crime  to  beget  in  another  a  love  so  deep  and 
holy,  when  she  herself  was  free  from  all  design,  and  even 
unsuspicious  that  she  was  regarded  with  more  warmth 
than  were  her  cousins  ?  So  Ellen  must  have  thought,  or 
she  would  not  have  taken  every  opportunity  to  thwart  and 
tease  her  orphan  relative,  and  to  detract  from  her  merit 
when  in  the  presence  of  her  friends. 

On  this  day  especially  she  seemed  to  feel  a  peculiar 
malice  and  spite  toward  her.  She  had  seen — herself  unob 
served — the  emotion  of  Henry  when  Jennie's  departure 
was  spoken  of,  and  her  own  heart  told  her  that  no  light  or 
common  feeling  produced  it. 

As  she  removed  the  handkerchief  from  her  face,  she 
perceived  that  she  had  gone  too  far,  for  even  the  unre- 
sentful  Jennie,  unable  to  bear  the  ridicule  of  her  most 
sacred  sentiments,  had  arisen  to  go  to  the  house.  She  did 


104  JENSTIE     GRIG. 

not  escape,  however,  before  Henry  had  whispered  the  re 
quest,  that  she  would  go  with  him  to  Blinkdale  on  the 
morrow. 

"  To-morrow  is  -Sunday,"  said  she,  quietly,  "  and  I  shell 
accompany  uncle  to  church." 

"Well,  the  next  day;  I  will  call  for  you,"  said  Henry. 
"  You  can  not  refuse  to  take  one  last  walk  with  me  ?" 

"I  have  no  disposition  to  refuse,"  replied  Jennie,  as  she 
turned  slowly  and  sadly  from  the  spot. 

"Ellen,  how  could  you!"  said  Carrie  with  flashing  eyes, 
"  so  short  a  time  as  Jennie  is  to  be  with  us,  and  yet  you 
make  her  miserable  ?" 

"  She  shall  not  come  between  me  and  happiness  with  her 
soft  and  hypocritical  ways !"  said  Ellen,  snapping  off  the 
leaves  of  a  twig  near  her,  and  looking  upon  the  retreating 
figures  of  her  sister  and  cousin,  who  were  going  up  the 
avenue.  Then  turning  to  a  point  where  she  could  see  in 
the  distance  the  dim  form  of  Henry  Moore,  she  took  the 
seat  that  her  cousin  had  vacated,  and  gave  vent  to  a  keener 
anguish,  but  how  different ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI, 

"  COME,  girls,"  said  Mr.  Halberg,  as  the  young  ladies 
descended  from  their  rooms  equipped  for  church,  "  the  bell 
has  been  tolling  for  some  time,  I  fear  we  shall  be  late. 
Where  's  Ellen  ?"  he  continued,  casting  his  eyes  over  the 
group  and  missing  his  eldest  daughter. 

"  She  is  not  well  to-day,  papa,  and  prefers  remaining  at 
home  with  mother,"  said  Carrie.  "  Nothing  serious,"  added 
she,  observing  her  father's  anxious  and  troubled  look. 
"  She  said  she  would  try  to  sleep,  and  perhaps  that  would 
banish  her  head-ache  so  that  she  would  be  able  to  go  with 
us  this  afternoon ;"  and  the  party  left  the  house,  and  calling 
for  Mrs.  Dunmore  and  Eosalie,  they  all  proceeded  to  the 
church. 

The  walk  was  rural  and  quiet,  through  green  lanes  that 
were  seldom  disturbed  except  when  the  house  of  God  was 
open.  A  little  footpath  was  worn  upon  the  verdant  turf, 
and  the  green  was  unpressed  elsewhere,  save  where  some 
passive  burden  was  silently  borne  to  its  lowly  bed ;  there 
the  somber  wheels  crushed  down  the  blades  that  lifted  up 
their  heads  to  the  glad  sunlight,  as  if  it  were  wrong  to  live 
and  grow  on  while  death  was  moving  over  them. 

5* 


106  JEXNIE    GKJG. 

There  were  recent  traces  upon  the  grass  that  recalled  to 
every  mind  the  venerable  and  stricken  old  man  who  was 
now  resting  so  peacefully  beneath  the  church's  shadow,  and 
as  Jennie's  eye  perceived  them,  she  leaned  heavily  upon 
her  uncle's  arm  and  sighed. 

"  My  darling,"  said  he,  in  a  low  and  gentle  voice,  "  we 
shall  miss  you  very  much — more  than  I  can  tell !  Your 
love  and  care  for  your  poor  grandfather,  notwithstanding 
all  the  past,  have  endeared  you  more  and  more  to  my 
heart,  so  that  it  is  a  bitter  trial  to  think  of  parting  from 
you,  and  one  which  I  should  strive  to  avert,  were  it  not 
that  too  much  of  your  young  life  has  been  given  up  to  se 
clusion  when  you  might  have  been  deriving  both  happiness 
and  profit  in  the  world.  Your  self-denial,  dear  child,  will 
be  rewarded,  if  it  is  not  already  giving  you  a  rich  harvest 
of  peaceful  and  self-approving  thoughts!"  Jennie  could 
not  reply,  even  had  she  desired,  as  they  were  at  the  church 
door,  and  her  uncle  was  accosted  by  the  senior  warden : 

"  We  have  a  stranger  to  preach  for  us  to-day,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Brown,  after  the  accustomed  salutations  had  passed  be 
tween  them. 

"  All !  where  is  our  own  rector  ?"  asked  Mr.  Halberg. 

"  I  suppose  he  is  supplying  this  young  minister's  pulpit," 

returned  the  warden.     "  It  is  seldom  that  we  have  an  ex- 

• 
change,  and  they  say  that  this  stranger  is  uncommonly 

eloquent." 

"  We  shall  have  an  opportunity  to  judge  for  ourselves," 
said  Mr.  Halberg,  as  he  turned  from  his  friend  and  entered 


JENNIE     GRIG.  lO 

the  church  with  his  niece.  The  service  commenced,  and 
as  the  rich  deep  tones  of  the  minister  fell  upon  Jennie's 
ear,  there  rushed  upon  her  mind  a  tide  of  joyous  memories 
that  transported  her  to  a  sunny  home  amid  the  mountains, 
and  a  little  tomb,  and  a  quiet  avenue,  and  a  bench  beneath 
the  old  maples,  where  she  used  to  sit  and  listen  to  a  calm 
and  gentle  voice  that  seemed  to  reach  her  even  now ;  and 
then  her  thoughts  came  back  to  her  hallowed  employment, 
and  as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  be  sure  that  it  was  not  all  a 
dream,  they  fell,  not  upon  a  strange  minister,  but  upon  the 
same  kind  friend  who  had  beguiled  her  childhood's  hours. 

How  many  years  had  passed  since  she  had  roamed  with 
him  among  the  hills,  not  a  gay  and  sportive  child,  as  one 
who  had  known  nothing  of  trouble  or  poverty ;  but  a  young 
being  whose  gleesomeness  had  been  crowded  down  by  pre 
mature  cares  and  sorrows,  so  that  it  seldom  gushed  out  as 
a  little  child's  mirth  should  always  do.  Will  he  recognize 
her  now  ?  She  must  be  so  changed  !  She  would  scarcely 
know  him  but  for  the  voice,  and  the  broad  pale  forehead 
that  seems  to  have  been  expanding  all  these  many  years,  so 
wide  and  high  does  it  appear. 

He  does  not  see  her,  he  is  all  absorbed  in  the  solemn 
worship,  as  she  too  should  be — now  he  is  in  the  pulpit, 
and  as  he  glances  around  upon  the  congregation,  his  eyes 
meet  the  earnest  soul  that  once  beamed  upon  him  in  his 
own  parish  church. 

There  is  no  mistaking  it.  For  many  a  weary  hour  has  it 
cheered  him  in  his  labors.  It  was  but  a  child's  soul,  but  it 


108  JENNIE    GBIG. 

was  an  eager  one,  on  which  the  seed  fell  availingly — and 
now  it  is  a  woman's  soul,  and  the  good  fruit  has  been 
nourishing  the  faint  old  man  who  needs  it  no  longer.  The 
minister  knows  nothing  of  that,  he  only  sees  that  it  is  before 
him,  as  desirous  as  ever  of  spiritual  nourishment,  and  the 
people  wonder  at  his  zeal  and  fervor,  little  thinking  of  the 
power  there  is  in  a  thirsting  spirit  to  awaken  the  energies 
of  him  who  dispenseth  to  them  of  the  waters  of  life. 

The  service  is  over,  and  Mrs.  Dunmore  and  Jennie  meet 
their  old  friend,  who  scarcely  dares  even  to  press  the  hand 
of  the  child  he  used  to  caress  so  fondly.  Time  and  absence 
strangely  change  us ! 

"May  I  see  you  to-morrow,"  said  he,  "  before  I  leave  ?" 

"  We  shall  look  certainly  for  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Dunmore 
as  they  left  the  vestibule. 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  mamma,"  said  Jennie ;  but  I  must 
leave  you,  uncle  wished  me  to  join  him  in  the  church-yard. 
It  may  be  our  last  opportunity  alone ;"  she  added  as  she 
moved  away. 

Mr.  Halberg  was  leaning  upon  the  gate  at  the  entrance 
of  the  burial-ground,  gazing  intently  upon  the  many 
mounds  that  filled  the  spot,  and  wondering  when  his  own 
tomb  would  be  pointed  out  by  others,  when  Jennie  lightly 
touched  his  hand  to  remind  him  of  her  presence. 

He  started,  and,  opening  the  gate,  they  were  soon  within 
the  sacred  inclosure.  "  You  may  wonder,"  said  he,  "  why 
I  choose  a  place  fraught  with"  so  many  saddening  associa 
tions  for  a  little  quiet  conversation  ;  but  it  suits  my  mood, 


JENNIE     GRIG.  109 

and  there  are  so  few  who  frequent  this  somber  place  that 
we  are  sure  not  to  be  disturbed." 

"  The  precincts  of  the  dead,  dear  uncle,"  said  Jennie, "  are 
any  thing  but  gloomy  to  me  ;  the  lessons  of  my  childhood 
were  too  full  of  solemn  realities  to  foster  in  me  a  shrinking 
from  the  entrance  to  a  purer  and  more  beauteous  existence." 

"  It  is  of  your  early  life  I  would  speak,  my  child,"  said 
Mr.  Halberg-,  with  an  effort  at  composure.  "  I  have  never 
trusted  myself  to  ask  of  you  your  history  previous  to  your 
adoption  by  Mrs.  Dunmore ;  but  the  time  has  come  when 
I  wish  to  know  it,  and,  however  painful  the  details  may  be, 
you  must  no  longer  hide  them  from  me." 

"  But  uncle,"  replied  the  niece ;  "  why  not  bury  the  past, 
and  look  only  to  the  happy  present  and  the  promising 
future.  Is  it  well  to  exhume  the  moldering  remains  when 
the  sight  would  bring  only  suffering !" 

"  It  is  for  the  moral,  Jennie ;  your  uncle  has  hitherto 
been  so  selfish  that  he  needs  awakening  by  some  stirring 
appeals,  and  what  can  be  more'  sure  to  arouse  him  than  the 
recollection  of  his  beloved  and  only  sister's  trials  !" 

"  I  feel  that  I  have  so  little  to  tell,"  said  Jennie,  trying 
to  evade  the  subject ;  "  the  time  spent  with  you  has  been 
so  pleasant,  that  it  quite  banishes  the  bitterness  of  my 
younger  days." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mr.  Halberg,  "  there  must  have  been 
intense  anguish  on  your  mother's  part,  as  she  felt  herself 
given  up  by  those  who  should  have  clung  to  her,  and  her 
very  means  of  subsistence  failing  her  !" 


110  JENNIE     GKIG. 

"I  never  heard  my  mother  complain,"  replied  Jennie. 
"  There  was  one  time  when  our  miserable  room  was  quite 
cheerless  and  cold,  and  we  knew  not  where  to  look  for 
fuel  or  food,  then  my  poor  father  seemed  almost  frantic 
with  grief  for  my  mother  and  myself ;  but  I  well  remem 
ber  her  holy  smile,  as  she  calmly  said,  '  My  husband,  trust 
in  the  Lord,  and  verily  thou  shalt  be  fed.'  I  never  met 
with  a  firmer  confidence  in  the  love  and  over-ruling  provi 
dence  of  God  than  my  mother  possessed,"  continued  Jennie. 
"  Her  example  is  ever  before  me,  and  yet  how  difficult  to 
attain  to  !" 

"  Were  you  often  in  so  desperate  a  condition,  my  child  ]" 
asked  Mr.  Halberg;  "and  did  your  mother's  patience  never 
fail  her,  so  that  she  would  speak  accusingly  of  her  rela 
tives  ?" 

"  There  was  seldom  a  day,"  replied  Jennie,  "  after  my 
father's  illness,  that  we  knew  how  to  provide  the  neces 
saries  of  life ;  and  the  only  time  I  ever  surprised  my 
mother  in  an  outburst  of  sorrow  was  when  I  took  my 
broom  for  the  first  time,  and  went  out  to  sweep  the  cross 
ings.  That  day  she  called  me  to  her,  and  tying  back  my 
curls,  so  that  none  of  them  could  be  seen  beneath  my 
hood,  she  clasped  me  convulsively  to  her,  and  wept  until 
I  ran  away  to  escape  the  agony." 

"  Were  you  not  afraid  in  the  crowded  streets  ?"  in 
quired  the  uncle,  as  Jennie  paused. 

"  Oh,  yes !  very  often,  dear  uncle — that  is,  of  the  ugly 
wheels ;  but  there  seemed  a  guardian  presence  around  me 


JENNIE    GRIG.  Ill 

and  few 'ever  spoke  rudely  to  me  ;  and  I  was  never  injured, 
excepting  on  that  blessed  night  when  God's  time  had  come 
to  help  us  through  my  physical  hurt.  Don't  let  us  think 
any  more  about  it,"  continued  she,  looking  up  at  her  uncle, 
and  perceiving  how  deeply  he  was  moved ;  "  it  was  all 
right,  and  if  it  had  not  happened  we  might  have  been 
wicked  and  thoughtless  instead  of  feeling  that  our  heavenly 
Father's  will  is  always  better  than  our  own." 

Mr.  Halberg  arose  and  walked  around  on  the  other 
side  of  the  church,  and  on  his  return  to  his  niece  he  said, 
in  a  calm  yet  earnest  tone,  "  My  child,  you  must  pray  for 
your  uncle — his  life  will  be  weary  indeed  without  you  1" 
and  pressing  her  fondly  to  him  as  they  stood  by  the  old 
man's  grave,  he  too  murmured  "Dear  little  Jennie  !"  and 
they  left  the  spot  to  the  breath  of  the  winds  and  the  twit 
tering  of  the  birds  that  hopped  about  upon  the  willow 
branches. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

MEANTIME  Ellen  lay  upon  her  couch,  tossed  with  many 
conflicting  emotions.  Her  better  nature  reproached  her  for 
her  injustice  and  cruelty  toward  her  innocent  cousin,  and 
almost  persuaded  her  to  cease  her  persecutions,  and  even  to 
strive  to  imitate  her  winning  virtues ;  but  the  remembrance 
of  the  scene  in  the  summer-house,  and  of  Henry's  con 
temptuous  look  as  he  left  her,  without  even  a  parting 
salutation,  awakened  the  bitter  thought  that  she  had  fallen 
in  his  estimation,  perhaps  beyond  the  power  of  retrieval, 
and  she  resolved  to  keep  up  the  semblance  of  a  pride  and 
indifference  which  she  was  far  from  feeling.  For  her 
cousin's  opinion  she  little  cared,  nor  was  she  influenced 
by  the  thought  of  an  invisible  yet  heart-searching  eye. 
No  wonder,  then,  that  she  clung  to  her  perverseness,  and 
moved  about  on  her  restless  pillow  with  no  sweet  or  re 
freshing  sleep  to  quiet  the  throbbings  of  her  heavy  brow. 

The  noonday  sun  was  streaming  through  her  window 
making  the  autumnal  air  seem  warm  and  cheery,  when  a 
gentle  rap  was  heard  at  her  door,  and  her  cousin  entered. 
Her  countenance  was  serene  and  peaceful,  and  her 
soothing  and  mild,  as  she  said, 


JENNIE    GRIG.  113 

"  I  have  come  to  bathe  your  head,  dear  Nellie,  Carrie 
told  me  you  were  ill,  and  I  could  not  feel  easy  nor  happy 
until  I  came  to  you." 

"  I  am  better  alone,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  repelling  motion 
of  the  hand.  If  I  need  any  thing,  I  will  ring  for  Meggie ; 
she  is  quite  accustomed  to  my  headaches." 

"  But,  Nellie,"  said  her  cousin1,  in  a  beseeching  tone, 
"  something  in  your  manner  tells  me  that  you  do  not  love  me, 
and  yet  I  am  not  conscious  that  I  have  offended  yon.  I  can 

not  go  from ,  without  being  at  peace  with  everybody. 

The  sermon  was  so  full  of  mercy  and  kindness  this  morning !" 

"  I  do  not  feel  like  hearing  a  sermon  to-day,"  said  Ellen, 
"  and  you  will  oblige  me,  Jennie,  if  you  will  leave  me  to 
myself,  it  is  decidedly  the  best  way  to  relieve  me." 

Jennie  said  no  more ;  but  arranging  her  cousin's  shawl 
closer  about  her,  and  darkening  the  room,  she  placed  the 
cooling  liquid ;  which  she  had  prepared,  near  the  bed,  and 
softly  left  the  room.  There  was  a  slight  shadow  upon 
her  brow  as  she  entered  her  uncle's  study,  but  it  was  ban 
ished  by  his  welcome  kiss.  Her  aunt  and  two  cousins  sat 
in  a  bay-window  facing  the  south.  Here  they  had  always 
assembled  on  Sundays,  until  there  came  to  be  a  sort  of 
consecrated  air  about  that  quiet  room,  and  something  hal 
lowed  in  the  lovely  view  seen  from  the  window. 

"  Here  is  your  nook,  Jennie,  we  have  been  expecting  you 
for  some  time !"  said  Carrie,  "  there  '11  be  such  a  sad 
vacancy  next  Sunday !  I  don't  believe  I  shall  love  this 
room  any  more  after  you  are  gone,  dear  cousin !" 


114  JENNIE    GKIG. 

"  I  am  glad  if  my  presence  makes  it  happier  to  you, 
Carrie,"  replied  Jennie ;  "  but  you  forget  that  uncle,  and 
aunt,  and  Mary,  and  Ellen  will  be  left  to  you  besides  the 
pleasant  associations  that  cluster  about  all  these  familiar 
objects,  while  I  shall  be  deprived  of  every  thing  but  dear 
mamma," 

u  But  every  body  will -love  you,  Jennie,"  said  Mary,  "and 
you  have  the  power  to  draw  around  you  whoever  you 
wish,  so  that  your  life  will  be  sure  to  be  sunny  wherever 
you  go." 

"  Not  every  body,  Mary,"  said  Jennie,  looking  thought 
fully  upon  the  glorious  view  that  was  spread  out  before 
them,  "  if  so,  my  heart  would  feel  no  weight  upon  it  to 
day.  It  is  not  well,"  she  continued,  "  to  have  too  much 
sunshine;  else  the  storms  would  never  be  permitted  to 
come ;  I  don't  believe  we  should  truly  appreciate  and  love 
this  bright  landscape  if  the  shadows  were  not  often  flitting 
over  it,  thus  making  the  glory  more  apparent!" 

"  You  are  right  my  child,"  said  Mr.  Halberg,  "  the  try 
ing  dispensations  of  our  life  are  wisely  ordered,  and  who 
of  us  would  dare  to  wish  it  otherwise !" 

"  And  yet  it  seems,"  said  Mary,  "  as  if  sorrow  never 
came  to  some  people,  they  glide  through  the  world  so  un 
ruffled  and  cheerful !" 

"  How  little  can  we  judge  !"  replied  her  father.  "  Every 
heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  and  the  outer  surface  is 
not  always  the  index  to  the  inner  emotions  or  passions." 

"Do  you  think,  dear  uncle,"  said  Jennie,  "that  one  can 


JENNIE     GRIG.  115 

ever  learn  so  to  bear  the  ills  of  his  lot,  as  always  to  present 
a  cheerful  and  happy  exterior  to  the  world  ?" 

"  Not  always,  my  child,"  said  her  uncle,  "  there  is  often 
a  weakness  of  the  flesh,  when  the  spirit  without  its  depress 
ing  influence,  would  be  strong  to  endure  ;  yet  we  may  cul 
tivate  such  a  feeling  of  confidence  in  the  will  of  God  as 
never  to  murmur  at  His  decrees,  and  even  to  welcome  His 
chastisements,  .as  blessings  in  disguise." 
•  "  That  seems  so  difficult,"  said  Carrie,  "  I  am  afraid  I 
could  never  learn  to  welcome  a  sorrow." 

"  Not  simply  as  a  sorrow,  my  dear  child,"  returned  Mr. 
Halberg ;  "  but  as  a  means  to  a  future  good  which  could 
not  be  attained  without  it ;  there  is  a  great  deal  that  is 
hard  for  our  sinful  natures  to  comprehend ;  but  there  are 
spiritual  aids  of  which  we  may  all  avail  ourselves.  Do  not 
let  us  slight  them,  my  dear  children,"  continued  he,  rising 
from  his  seat,  and  gathering  the  three  in  one  embrace  as 
they  stood  by  the  window.  The  golden  light  was  sprinkled 
upon  the  landscape,  and  the  whole  face  of  nature  seemed 
to  glow  with  an  unusual  radiance,  as  that  little  band  of 
loving  hearts  beat  in  such  grateful  and  perfect  unison. 
Yet  was  there  a  sigh  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  for  the  absent 
and  sinning  one: 

"Worlds  like  to  this 
Mingle  sorrow  and  bliss. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MRS.  DUKMOEE  and  Jennie  were  busy  in  talking  over 
the  "past,  and  forming  plans  for  the  future,  when  Mr.  Cot- 
bert  was  announced. 

"  I  trust  you  will  excuse  my  early  call,"  said  he,  as  they 
arose  to  greet  him.  "  I  have  to  leave  the  village  at  noon, 
which  is  my  only  apology  for  intruding  upon  your  morning 
hours." 

"We  are  always  at  home  to  our  old  and  valued  friends," 
replied  Mrs.  Dunmore.  "  I  hope  our  long  separation  will 
not  make  us  strangers  to  each  other." 

"  Miss  Jennie  reminds  me  that  a  long  interval  has  come 
between  us,"  said  the  clergyman,  glancing  at  the  graceful 

• 

and  womanly  figure  before  him ;  "  I  have  been  accustomed 
to  think  of  her  as  the  child  of  my  pleasant  rambles,  so  that 
I  am  scarcely  prepared  to  meet  her  in  another  form." 

Jennie  had  received  him  with  that  timid  cordiality  so 
common  to  early  womanhood,  a  kind  of  shrinking  from  the 
advances  of  a  new  and  not  wholly  defined  stage  of  being, 
and,  as  he  alluded  to  the  days  of  her  childhood  and  the 
hours  spent  together  in  his  hill-girt  home,  a  slight  blush 
tinged  her  face,  and  she  said,  "the  long  interval  has 


JENNIE    GKIG.  117 

changed  you  too,  Mr.  Colbert,  so  that  there  needed  early 
memories  to  aid  me  in  recognizing  you." 

"  Time  has  dealt  very  differently  with  us,"  replied  her 
friend,  as  the  mirror  opposite  enabled  him  to  contrast  his 
sunken  and  pallid  features  with  the  round  and  healthful 
face  of  the  lovely  girl.  "  There  are  many  things,  however, 
that  encourage  me  in  the  hope  that  we  are  none  the  less 
friends  than  formerly,  and  that  we  still  have  the  one  great 
sympathy  in  common;"  added  he,  recalling  her  devout 
manner  in  church  the  day  before. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  Mr.  Colbert,"  asked  Mrs.  Dunmore ; 
"  or  do  you  trespass  upon  the  hours  necessary  to  your  re 
pose  and  recreation  that  you  are  so  much  thinner  and  paler 
than  you  used  to  be  ?  I  fear  I  must  usurp  your  prerogative 
and  turn  preacher  if  you  are  really  destroying  your  health 
by  too  great  devotion  to  your  duties." 

"  I  have  been  quite  a  sufferer  for  the  last  few  years,  my 
dear  madam,"  returned  the  minister ;  "  but  not  from  the 
cause  you  assign." 

"  Perhaps  you  need  change,"  said  the  widow ;  "  it  is  not 
well  to  confine  one's  self  too  constantly  to  one  locality." 

"I  feel  confident  it  is  so,"  said  Mr.  Colbert,  "since 
even  so  short  a  journey  revives  me  materially;  but  how 
comes  it,"  he  asked,  "  that  you  are  here,  and  apparently 
settled  ?" 

"  Jennie  must  explain  that  to  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Dun- 
more,  "  as  it  was  through  her  that  our  present  arrangements 
were  made." 


118  JENNIE    GRIG. 

"  Ah  !  do  you  find  a  rural  life  so  much  more  congenial 
than  your  city  home  that  you  have  adopted  it  altogether?" 
said  Mr.  Colbert,  addressing  Jennie. 

"  It  is  not  that,"  she  replied,  "  the  city  was  the  scene  of 
my  happiest,  as  well  as  my  saddest  days,  and  we  are  soon 
to  return  to  it ;  but  this  village  is  the  home  of  my  nearest 
relatives,  who  were  restored  to  me  a  few  years  since  through 
a  singular  Providence,  and  my  grandfather's  infirmities 
rendered  it  expedient  that  we  should  remain  here  until 
now." 

Mrs.  Dunmore  seeing  the  tears  that  dropped  upon  her 
child's  work  at  mention  of  her  grandfather,  took  Mr.  Col 
bert  aside,  and  gave  him  a  brief  history  of  all  that  had  oc 
curred  during  the  years  of  their  severance,  and  when  she  had 
finished  her  relation  of  the  old  man's  derangement,  and  of 
Jennie's  devotion  and  love  toward  him,  the  minister  arose, 
and  walked  backward  and  forward  in  the  room  with  an  ab 
sorbed  and  meditative  air,  and  then  stopping  so  suddenly 
before  the  young  girl  as  to  startle  her,  he  said  abruptly : 
"  Will  you  give  me  one  moment  in  the  garden  ?  I  have  a 
single  word  to  say  to  you  alone."  Jennie  laid  aside  her 
work,  and  as  they  stepped  from  the  colonnade  into  the  gar 
den  of  their  lodgings,  she  opened  an  adjoining  wicket  that 
led  to  her  uncle's  grounds,  and,  motioning  Mr.  Colbert  to 
follow,  she  passed  through  and  entered  the  little  summer- 
house. 

"  Are  we  quite  free  from  intrusion  ?"  asked  her  compan 
ion,  as  she  seated  herself  upon  a  bench  near  the  window. 


JENNIE     GKIG.  119 

"  I  believe  I  reign  sole  monarcli  of  this  sequestered  nook 
at  this  season,"  replied  Jennie.  "  My  cousins  care  little  for 
such  solitude  now  that  the  breeze  is  chilly  and  the  flowers 
have  vanished." 

"  Jennie,"  said  her  friend,  leaning  against  a  pillow  as  if 
for  support,  "  if  you  knew  that  all  my  suffering  for  the  last 
few  years  had  been  for  you,  that  this  change,  and  palor, 
and  thinness,  were  all  occasioned  by  the  fear  that  the  time 
might  never  come  when  I  could  tell  you  that  I  love  you, 
you  would  pardon  such  a  hasty  declaration  of  my  feelings 
toward  you.  You  were  but  a  child  when  first  we  met,"  he 
continued,  placing  his  hand  upon  her  head  as  he  had  then 
been  wont  to  do,  "  but  how  closely  your  young  being  had 
woven  itself  with  mine  my  subsequent  weary  life  will 
prove.  Were  you  ever  sundered  from  the  object  you  had 
learned  to  prize  most  on  earth,  Jennie  ?"  said  he,  as  the 
drooping  lashes  were  lifted,  and  the  pensive,  earnest  eyes 
met  his  inquiring  gaze,  "  and  was  there  utter  desolation  ? 
Then  do  you  appreciate  fully  all  that  I  would  say  to  you 
of  my  own  sorrow  when  bereft  of  the  only  mortal  whom 
my  heart  had  ever  cared  to  cherish.  I  ask  you  not  to  bind 
yourself  to  me  in  an  irrevocable  vow,  but  to  think  of  me 
as  your  truest  friend  until  you  have  seen  more  of  the  world 
and  of  men.  If  then  you  can  turn  away  from  all  to  the 
heart  that  will  never  beat  for  another,  and  call  me  hus 
band,  God  be  praised — my  only  earthly  prayer  will  be 
answered." 


120  JENNIE    GEIG. 

Not  another  word  was  spoken,  but  silently  as  they  came 
so  they  went  back,  through  the  little  wicket  into  the  pres 
ence  of  Mrs.  Dunmore,  and  Mr.  Colbert  made  his  adieus 
and  departed — but  alas  for  Henry  Moore ! 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  afternoon  was  charming — one  of  those  mellow, 
hazy  atmospheres  that  make  the  autumnal  season  so  pen 
sive  and  dreamy,  and  Jennie  felt  its  influence  as  she  and 
Henry  Moore  sought  the  bright  path  to  Blinkdale.  Not 
richer  nor  more  sparkling  could  the  emerald,  and  the  to 
paz,  and  the  amethyst,  and  the  sardius  be,  in  their  gay  and 
beauteous  variety,  than  were  the  changing  leaflets  in  the 
sun's  burnishing  rays.  The  birds  were  singing  merrily 
amid  the  brilliant  foliage,  and  the  fresh  winds  played 
among  the  branches,  tossing  them  to  and  fro,  and  blend 
ing  the  bright  and  the  somber  in  one  glorious  commingling. 
A  streamlet  crossed  their  pathway,  moving  placidly  and 
gently  along,  but  as  they  followed  its  windings,  gurgling 
and  foaming  over  the  rocky  obstructions,  and  almost 
drowning  their  voices  in  its  noisy  course.  "  How  beauti 
ful  !"  exclaimed  Jennie,  seating  herself  upon  a  mossy  stone 
on  the  river's  bank,  and  looking  to  her  companion  for  sym 
pathy  in  her  enthusiastic  delight. 

"  I  would  rather  look  on  a  sweet  face,"  replied  Hemy,  as 
his  eloquent  eyes  met  hers.  Blushing  deeply,  Jennie 
turned  away  and  remained  thoughtful  and  still,  listening 

6 


122  JENNIE    GKIG. 

to  the  din  of  the  waters  and  the  wail  of  the  autumn  winds 
as  they  swept  through  the  tree-tops,  and  her  quiet  re  very 
brought  the  old  expression  of  early  maturity  and  care,  for 
her  thoughts  had  been  roving  all  along  her  past  life,  and 
had  left  her  amid  her  childhood's  sorrows  in  the  narrow 
dreary  room,  with  the  weary  and  forsaken  ones,  and  none 
else  to  love  and  cheer  her. 

"Jennie,"  said  her  companion,  noticing  the  bitterness 
that  passed  over  her  young  face,  and  wishing  to  dissipate 
any  mournful  musings,  "  do  you  know  why  I  asked  you  to 
come  alone  with  me  to  Blinkdale  to-day  ?" 

Aroused  thus  suddenly,  the  young  girl  started  from  her 
lowly  seat,  and  patting  its  mossy  side  with  her  foot,  replied, 
"How  should  I,  Henry,  unless  it  be  that  it  is  always 
pleasanter  to  have  one  companion  who  can  understand 
and  appreciate  your  love  of  nature,  than  to  be  surrounded 
in  your  walks  by  many  who  care  only  for  merriment  and 
chatting.  I  could  spend  the  whole  day  in  these  solemn  old 
woods  with  nothing  to  amuse  me  but  my  own  thoughts." 

"  And  yet,  I  doubt  if  your  pensive  musings  would  be 
profitable  to  you,"  said  her  companion  ;  "  there  is  some 
thing  dirge-like  in  the  music  of  nature  that  begets  a 
morbid  sort  of  feeling  in  a  mind  like  yours,  Jennie,  and  too 
much  of  such  solitude  would  injure  you.  Pardon  me,"  con 
tinued  he,  as  he  caught  her  half  comic  inquisitive  gaze ;  "but 
your  character  has  been  my  study  for  a  long,  long  time." 

"  Not  more  profitable  to  you  than  my  solitary  reveries,  I 
fancy,"  said  Jennie. 


JENNIE     GKIG.  123 

"But  more  delightful  to  ine  than  any  study,"  replied 
Henry,  and  seating  her  again  upon  the  bank  near  him,  he 
told  her  all — how  he  had  watched  her  growing  graces 
both  of  heart  and  mind,  since  the  first  time  they  had  met 
beneath  her  grandfather's  porch ;  how  he  had  striven  in 
his  profession  for  her  sake ;  how  he  had  suffered  his  whole 
soul  to  go  out  toward  her  in  a  hallowed  and  sincere  affec 
tion  ;  and  how  cold,  and  dead,  and  sad  his  life  must  be  if 
she  reciprocated  not  his  tenderness ;  and  then,  with  a 
flushed  and  anxious  face,  he  awaited  her  answer. 

Oh !  how  weary  was  the  walk  home !  The  woods  were 
dark  and  dreary,  and  the  steps  of  the  young  man  heavy 
and  listless,  as  he  sauntered  on  beside  his  silent  and  suffering 
companion.  Life  had  gained  a  new  and  somber  aspect  to 
her  too,  since  she  was  the  cause  of  a  crushing  sorrow  to 
one  who  had  lavished  upon  her  his  heart's  breath.  Why 
could  he  not  be  content  with  the  sisterly  regard  she  had 
ever  felt  toward  him  ?  It  is  so  terrible  to  see  him  in  his 
manly  grief,  and  to  feel  that  she  may  avert  it !  And  yet, 
how  can  it  be  otherwise,  since  there  is  ever  before  her  a 
pale  face,  with  its  spiritual  eyes  fixed  on  her  soul  calling 
forth  all  that  she  has  to  bestow,  , 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

STANDING  alone  that  evening  in  the  bay-window  of  her 
uncle's  study,  Jennie  gazed  out  upon  the  peaceful  moonlit 
scene,  trying  to  derive  from  it  a  tranquillity  which  the  day's 
events  had  banished,  when  a  loving  arm  was  wound  about 
her,  and  a  low  voice  said,  "May  I  share  your  thoughts 
this  evening,  my  child  ?" 

"  It  is  you,  is  it,  uncle  !"  said  Jennie  ;  "  your  step  was  so 
ghost-like  that  I  did  not  hear  you  enter." 

"I  came  very  softly  that  I  might  not  disturb  you," 
replied  Mr.  Halberg ;  "  you  seem  quite  absorbed." 

"  And  so  I  was,  dear  uncle,  endeavoring  to  gather  some 
what  of  serenity  from  the  quiet  and  beauty  of  nature." 

"What  disturbs  you  to-night,  my  darling1?"  said  her 
luncle,  looking  fondly  upon  the  sweet  face  that  was  up 
turned  to  his,  and  wishing  that  his  own  soul  could  look 
forth  as  calm  and  pure  in  its  simple  truthfulness  as  that 
young  and  guileless  one's.  "There  is  naught  but  sin  that 
should  mar  our  peace,  and  I  trust  you  are  constant  in  your 
efforts  to  be  clean  from  that." 

"  Is  it  not  a  source  of  sorrow,  dear  uncle,  to  occasion 
grief  to  others,  even  though  the  infliction  involves  no  sinful 


JENNIE     GRIG.  125 

motive  ?"  said  Jennie,  with  suffused  eyes,  and  a  tremor  in 
her  voice. 

"  Truly  so,"  replied  Mr.  Halberg,  instantly  conjecturing 
the  cause  of  his  niece's  self-reproach ;  "  but  the  ills  that  we 
are  unable  to  avoid  we  should  not  dwell  upon.  If  a  person 
seeks  that  which  we  know  we  can  not  conscientiously 
bestow,  it  is  a  sacred  duty  to  refuse  it  him,  even  though  we 
are  sensible  that  it  will  give  much  pain,  and  when  the 
duty  is  performed  in  a  Christian  manner  it  will  leave  no 
lasting  sting,  but  will  itself  prove  a  healing  balm  to  the 
wounded  one." 

"  You  comfort  me  much,  dear  uncle"  said  Jennie ;  "  I 
have  been  so  sadly  depressed  this  evening  that  the  quiet 
and  solitude  even  were  overpowering,  and  your  presence  is 
so  soothing  and  cheering.  It  will  be  a  great  loss  to  me  to 
be  deprived  of  so  precious  a  guide — and  a  great  cross  too  !" 
she  added  as  her  uncle  bent  to  kiss  her  brow. 

"  We  are  all  called  upon  to  bear  our  cross  in  this  life, 
dear  child,"  said  Mr.  Halberg.  "  This  will  be  a  heavy  one 
to  your  old  uncle,  but  it  is  for  your  good,  and  he  therefore 
cheerfully  submits  to  it.  I  am  not  afraid  to  confide  you  to 
One  who  will  guide  you  unto  a  perfect  rest  and  peace. 
Come  in,  my  children,"  said  he,  as  a  tap  announced  his 
three  daughters.  "Where's  mother?  we  must  have  our 
circle  complete  to-night  since  Jennie  will  leave  a  vacant 
space  on  the  morrow,"  he  added  with  some  emotion. 

"  Here  I  am,"  replied  Mrs.  Halberg,  hastening  toward 
them  from  an  adjoining  apartment;  "it  is  really  very 


JENNIE    GRIG. 

delightful  to  have  you  all  gathered  once  more  about  me !" 
Nellie  has  been  a  sad  truant  of  late,  and  Rosalie  has  quite 
monopolized  the  other  girls." 

"  I  did  not  flatter  myself  that  I  should  be  missed,"  said 
Ellen  ;  "  and  as  for  the  girls,  Mr.  Moore's  house  seems  quite 
as  attractive  as  their  own  home  to  them." 

"  His  is  indeed  a  complete  and  charming  household  ! 
my  daughter,"  said  her  father ;  "  such  perfect  unison  and 
harmony  reigns  among  its  members.  I  know  of  no  fitter 
examples  for  my  children,  and  am  only  too  happy  that  they 
are  on  such  an  intimate  footing  there." 

"  It  would  be  more  agreeable  to  some,  perhaps,  if  the 
connection  were  still  nearer,"  answered  Ellen,  with  an  un 
mistakable  glance  at  her  cousin,  whose  increasing  color 
showed  that  she  applied  her  meaning.  This  then  solved 
the  mystery.  Had  she  penetrated  her  cousin  Ellen's  feel 
ings  before,  how  much  hatred,  and  malice,  and  spite,  might 
she  not  have  averted. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"  MAY  I  come  in,  Nellie  ?"  said  Jennie,  as  her  cousin 
answered  her  gentle  rap  by  half-opening  the  door  and  peep 
ing  out  to  see  who  the  intruder  was  at  that  late  hour. 
"I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you,"* continued  she,  as 
Ellen  gave  her  an  ungracious  permission  to  enter. 

"  Well  you  must  hurry  and  say  it,  Jennie,  for  I  am  un 
commonly  sleepy,  and  feel  a  stronger  inclination  for  my 
bed  at  present  than  for  any  communications,"  replied 
Ellen,  throwing  herself  languidly  down,  and  motioning  her 
cousin  to  be  seated. 

"  Nellie,"  said  Jennie,  placing  her  small  white  hand  upon 
the  one  that  hung  over  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  "  to-morrow 
we  part,  and  God  only  knows  when  and  where  we  may 
meet  again.  Be  that  as  it  may,  to-night  we  have  the  op 
portunity  to  understand  and  love  each  other,  another  even 
ing's  shadows  may  stand  between  our  hearts  if  they  are 
not  earlier  united.  You  think  that  I  love  Henry  Moore  ; 
will  it  make  you  happy  to  know  that  he  will  never  be 
aught  to  me  but  a  kind  and  affectionate  brother,  and  that 
the  most  sacred  place  in  my  heart  is  reserved  for  another 
occupant  ?" 


128  JENNIE    GKIG. 

Quite  ashamed  and  almost  like  a  guilty  thing,  Ellen 
sat,  while  the  color  rushed  over  neck  and  face,  mounting 
even  to  the  brow,  and  deepening  as  it  rose  until  it  seemed 
too  painful  to  endure,  then  rising  from  her  seat,  and  open 
ing  the  window  upon  the  balcony  she  stepped  forth  into 
the  night  air,  and  kneeling  by  the  balustrade,  remained, 
motionless  as  a  statue  until  a  soft  kiss  upon  her  forehead 
assured  her  that  she  was  forgiven.  The  stars  looked  down 
with  a  brighter  twinkle,  and  the  autumn  wail  grew  into  a 
sweet  harmony  as  the  two  reconciled  cousins  stood  with 
clasped  hands  gazing  upward. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  GOOD-BY,  uncle ;  good-by  auntie ;  good-by  girls," 
said  Jennie,  as  she  was  pressed  to  the  bosom  of  her  rela 
tives  at  the  parting  hour.  "  Simon,  don't  forget  the  dear 
old  seat,"  continued  she,  putting  a  coin  in  his  hand,  and 
turning  tearfully  toward  the  carriage  where  Mrs.  Dunmore 
was  awaiting  her,  and  then  springing  back  to  give  one 
more  kiss  to  her  uncle,  and  to  whisper  something  in  Car 
rie's  ear  that  sent  the  warm  blood  quickly  to  her  face. 

Henry  and  Rosalie  were  there  to  bid  her  adieu,  and 
golden-curled  Minnie,  too,  with  a  bunch  of  autumn  leaves 
in  her  little  hand,  which  she  had  gathered  on  the  way  as  a 
parting  gift,  and  which  she  now  held  up  beseechingly  to 
Jennie,  who  stooped  to  embrace  her,  and  taking  the 
withered  tokens,  hastened  to  hide  her  emotion  in  the 
furthest  recess  of  the  carriage  that  bore  her  away  from  the 
home  of  her  kindred.  It  seemed  to  those  who  watched 
the  receding  travelers,  as  if  a  blight  had  fallen  upon  their 
pleasant  things ;  as  if  the  winter  had  suddenly  come  and 
frozen  up  all  the  springs  of  pleasure  and  delight,  for  that 
young  girl's  presence,  though  unobtrusive  in  its  influence, 
had  diffused  warmth  and  gladness  all  about  her,  and  now 

6* 


130  JENNIE    GBIG. 

\ 

that  she  was  gone  the  warmth  and  gladness  had  also  de 
parted,  and  a  mournful  group  turned  back  into  the  house 
with  a  mournful  feeling,  almost  as  if  the  grave  had  swallowed 
up  one  of  its  inmates.  Old  Simon  betook  himself  to  the 
seat  beneath  the  trees,  and  with  his  knees  crossed,  and  a 
dolorous  motion  of  his  gray  head,  he  muttered, 

"  I  thought  it  could  n't  be  all  in  the  name  !  the  likeness 
was  arnazin' !  amazin' !"  And  forth  from  the  stilly  air 
seemed  to  come  to  the  good  old  butler's  ear,  "  Dear  little 
Jennie !  dear  little  Jennie  !" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Six  years  have  passed,  and  beneath  the  old  maples  sits 
Nurse  Nannie,  wrinkled  and  bent,  with  a  wee  babe  upon 
her  lap,  while  a  girl  of  two  years  and  a  half  plays  with  her 
doll  upon  the  lawn,  now  and  then  looking  up  to  catch 
mamma's  smile,  or  to  wonder  why  dear  papa  looks  so  grave 
when  Grandmamma  Dunmore  tells  him  about  the  sick  man 
in  the  cottage  at  the  end  of  the  lane,  and  his  motherless 
children.  And  now  she  spies  cousin  Henry  and  Carrie 
coming  from  the  avenue  in  the  road,  and  springs  to  meet 
little  Harry,  who  takes  her  hand  and  marches  off  with  her, 
saying,  he  "  is  n't  afwaid  of  tows,"  and  brandishing  a  wisp 
of  a  stick  as  if  there  were  a  mighty  power  in  it.  Sally 
brings  more  chairs  out  upon  the  green,  and  the  mammas 
and  papas  talk  busily  together,  while  the  little  ones  run 
about  enjoying  their  own  infantile  prattle ;  and  just  as 
Harry  and  Jennie  are  the  happiest,  with  their  pinafores 
full  of  buttercups  and  daisies,  and  their  little  faces  flushed 
with  exercise  and  joy,  nurse  comes  to  take  them  to  the 
house,  for  the  dew  begins  to  fall.  Then  Mamma  Colbert 
proposes  that  all  go  to  spend  the  evening  with  Fred  Bur 
ling  and  Rosalie,  who  occupy  Grandmamma  Dunmore's 
summer  home. 


132  JENNIE    GEIG. 

Thus  the  days  pass  until  the  summer  is  gone,  and  the 
snow  comes  and  drives  them  all  to  the  city. 

Mamma  spends  only  a  month  away,  for  papa  can  not 
leave  his  parish,  and  she  takes  them  to  see  Grandpa  and 
Grandma  Halberg,  and  Aunts  Ellen  and  Mary,  who  pets 
them  very  much ;  then  they  go  to  the  great  house  in  the 
avenue,  and  every  thing  is  so  new  and  beautiful,  that  the 
time  goes  very  pleasantly ;  only  sometimes  as  they  drive 
through  Broadway,  and  stop  near  the  crossings,  a  little 
ugly-looking  creature,  with  a  broom,  gets  upon  the  steps  of 
the  carriage  and  asks  for  pennies,  and  when  Jennie  shakes 
her  tiny  hand  at  her,  and  says  "go  'way,  bad  girl,"  mamma 
speaks  kindly  to  her,  and  puts  a  great  silver  bit  into  the 
poor  girl's  hand,  and  when  she  has  gone,  tells  Jennie  that 
she  must  pity  and  be  good  to  the  little  street-sweepers,  for 
dear  mamma  was  like  that  poor  girl  once.  Then  Jennie 
puts  up  her  wee  mouth,  and  says,  "No,  no,  mamma,"  while 
she  makes  an  ugly  face  at  the  vision  of  the  child  with  the 
broom,  and  revolves  in  her  bewildered  mind  what  dear 
mamma  can  mean ! 


NANNIE    BATES, 

THE    HUCKSTER'S    DAUGHTER. 


NANNIE   BATES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IT  was  little  comfort  life  had  ever  brought  to  her, 
what  with  harsh  treatment  from  a  cruel  father,  and  the 
woman's  work  that  came  upon  her  young  shoulders,  while 
her  mother  traveled  up  and  down  the  streets  with  her  bas 
ket  of  small- wares,  trying  to  get  the  wherewithal  to  keep 
soul  and  body  together.  The  lazy  husband  droned  away 
the  hours  in  the  dram-shops,  gulping  down  the  hard  earn 
ings  of  his  busy  wife,  or  he  staggered  home  with  his  reeling 
brain,  to  vent  his  ill-nature  on  the  little  pale  thing  that 
kept  the  house.  It  was  "  Nannie,  do  this,"  or,  "  Nannie, 
do  that,"  or,  "  Nannie,  mind  the  baby,"  all  the  live-long 
time,  when  he  was  sufficiently  sober  to  know  what  was 
going  on  about  him ;  and  if  the  tired  little  feet  loitered  at 
all  at  his  bidding,  a  wicked  oath  or  a  villainous  blow  hast 
ened  her  weary  steps.  "  What  was  she  born  for,  any  way?" 
She  looked  down  upon  the  face  of  the  sleeping  babe  whose 
cradle  her  foot  was  rocking,  but  it  gave  her  no  satisfactory 
answer.  It  was  not  a  bright  rosy-cheeked  thing  such  as 
she  met  every  day  just  round  the  corner,  where  she  went 


136  NANNIE     BATES. 

to  the  pump  for  water !  She  must  have  been  just  so  white 
and  sickly, 'for  the  bit  of  a  looking-glass  that  she  picked  up 
from  an  old  ash-barrel  in  the  street  gives  her  back  no  round 
and  healthy  cheeks,  but  the  reflection  of  a  meager,  sad- 
looking  face,  that  nobody  can  care  to  look  upon!  And 
they  must  always  be  so,  both  baby  and  she,  for  one  of  her 
teachers  in  the  Industrial  School  told  her  that  nothing 
could  be  strong  and  healthy  without  the  sun,  and  there 
was  never  a  single  ray  in  that  dreary  basement. 

Oh !  no,  they  need  n't  be  weak  and  sickly !  A  thought 
has  occurred  to  her — she  wonders  why  she  never  had  it 
before !  Perhaps  father  would  n't  like  it  if  he  should  come 
home  and  find  her  away.  But  love  for  baby  is  stronger 
than  fear  of  father,  and  so  she  tidies  herself  up  as  well  as 
she  can,  and  wrapping  the  little  one  in  a  piece  of  an  old 
blanket,  takes  it  out  where  it  is  the  brightest  and  sunniest, 
and  there  she  sits  on  the  broad  stone-steps  of  some  great 
house,  watching  the  merry  children  who  play  upon  the 
walk,  and  wondering  if  she  can  ever  hope  to  see  dear  little 
Winnie  as  joyous  and  happy. 

"  Look  at  that  poor  girl,"  said  one  of  the  gay  children, 
stopping  her  hoop  and  touching  her  brother  upon  the  back 
with  her  stick ;  "  she 's  got  a  little  baby  in  her  arms  just 
as  big  as  sissy — has  n't  she  Willie  ?  And  only  see  what 
an  old  lagged  blanket  it  has  on !  Have  n't  you  got  any 
nice  clothes  for  the  baby  ?"  said  she  to  the  young  girl,  who 
had  heard  her,  and  was  moving  off  with  the  wee  child 
hugged  closely  to  her  breast — "  because  sissy  has  a  great 


NANNIE     BATES.  137 

many,  and  I  know  mother  can  spare  you  one,"  and  with 
that  she  ran  up  the  steps,  and  pulled  the  bell  as  hard  as 
she  could. 

"  Oh !  mamma,"  said  she,  all  out  of  breath  with  haste 
and  excitement,  "  there 's  a  little  bit  of  a  baby  out  there, 
just  like  my  sissy,  and  it  hasn't  any  thing  on  its  feet, 
and  the  old  flannel  rag  can't  cover  it  half  over;  won't 
you  let  me  give  it  that  one  you  put  in  the  mending  basket? 
It  is  so  much  bigger  and  nicer  than  that !"  and  the  tiny 
arm  was  thrown  caressingly  around  the  gentle  mother's 
neck,  and  the  little  lips  were  touching  her  cheek. 

"  Blessings  on  her  swate  heart !"  said  Biddy,  rising,  by 
her  mistress'  permission,  to  get  the  blanket.  "  "Tis  never 
the  like  of  ye  '11  come  to  want,  so  shure  as  my  name 's 
Biddy  Halligan,  an'  ye  so  free  in  your  benivolence.  But 
where 's  the  baby,  faith  ?"  said  she,  as  she  went  down  the 
steps  holding  the  little  girl  by  the  hand. 

"  Oh  !  Biddy,  what  shall  I  do  ?  she 's  gone,  and  now  I 
can't  give  her  the  blanket !"  and  the  disappointed  child 
wiped  her  eyes  upon  her  pinafore,  and  stood  still  upon  the 
walk,  while  her  nurse  looked  down  the  length  of  the  street. 

"  Maybe  that  same  is  she,"  said  Biddy,  "  with  the  brown 
bonnet  upon  the  head,  as  is  going  round  the  corner  by  the 
the  big  grocery." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  that 's  she,"  and  little  May  brightened  up, 
and  walked  as  fast  as  she*  could  to  overtake  the  poor  -girl. 
They  reached  her  just  as  she  closed  the  door  of  .the  base 
ment  after  her,  and  May  hung  back  at  first,  half  frightened 


NANNIE     BATES. 

as  she  looked  into  the  dismal  place ;  but  Biddy  encouraged 
her,  so  that  she  just  ventured  within  the  door,  and  handed 
the  small  parcel;  then  she  would  go  home,  for  a  vague 
feeling  of  evil  haunted  her  timid  mind  in  that  dark  and 
lone  spot. 

Nannie  opened  the  bundle,  and  her  eyes  glistened  as  she 
saw  the  great  square  of  soft  flannel  with  a  pretty  silken 
border  worked  all  around  it.  "  They  can't  be  bad  people 
all  of  them  that  live  in  grand  houses,  as  father  says," 
thought  she,  "  or  they  would  n't  have  sent  me  this  pretty 
thing!"  She  is  so  glad  to  get  home  before  he  comes, 
for  now,  perhaps,  she  can  escape  a  scolding,  and,  com 
mon  as  cross  words  are  to  her,  she  shrinks  from  them. 
She  will  go  out  every  day  at  this  hour  when  it  is  pleasant, 
and  then  she  will  not  be  missed  at  home.  "  'Tis  so  nice  to 
have  that  comfortable  covering  for  Winnie,  for  now  she  can 
hide  her  scanty  apparel,  and  she  will  look  quite  respectable 
and  neat;"  for  Nannie  has  some  idea  of  neatness,  and 
really  tries  to  better  the  condition  of  the  family.  She 
learned  a  great  many  good  ways  at  the  school,  and  she 
does  not  forget  them,  although  she  has  not  been  since 
baby's  birth,  and  they  will  tell  greatly  upon  the  whole  of 
her  life.  There  was  a  time  when  she  did  not  care  if  the 
floor  was  all  covered  with  heaps  of  dirt,  and  she  would  go 
out  into  the  street  with  the  rags  flying  all  about  her,  and 
her  .hair  in  masses  of  thick  tangle* ,  and  her  face  quite  black 
and  ugly.  Now  she  scrubs  up  the  room  very  often,  and 
you  never  see  any  of  the  streamers  hanging  from  her 


NANNIE     BATES.  139 

garments,  for  she  mends  them  as  well  as  she  can,  and  she 
makes  free  use  of  the  nice  water  that  is  a  blessing  of  such 
magnitude  to  the  poor.  Her  hair  too  is  always  glossy  and 
smooth — no  matter  if  she  does  have  to  wear  a  coarse  frock, 
and  an  old  and  faded  bonnet,  they  are  whole,  and  that  is 
far  better  than  rags  or  dirt.  She  is  n't  a  bit  ashamed  of 
them  nor  of  her  bare  feet,  for  they  are  so  white  that  the 
blue  veins  are  plainly  visible,  and  things  are  so  much 
better  than  they  used  to  be. 

"This  is  a  very  pleasant  morning,  what  with  the  nice 
little  girl,  and  baby's  new  blanket !"  and  she  went  to  fold  it 
up  and  lay  it  in  a  safe  place  for  the  next  day,  when  a  rough 
hand  caught  it  from  her. 

"  What  have  we  here  ?"  said  her  drunken  father ;  "  em 
broidered,  eh !  that 's  good  luck,  indeed !  I  '11  take  it,  child, 
it's  just  the  thing,  it  will  bring  a  good  price  !" 

"  Oh !  don't,  please  don't  sell  Winnie's  blanket,  father  !" 
pleaded  Nannie ;  "  it  is  all  she  has  that 's  decent,  and  a 
good  little  girl  broug*ht  it  on  purpose  for  her,  please  don't 
take  that,  father !"  But  the  man  was  gone,  and  while  the 
girl  sat  sobbing  over  her  loss,  he  was  greedily  swallowing 
its  price  as  he  had  done  that  of  many  a  nice  article  before. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"MATCHES?  shoe-lacings?  buttons?  only  a  penny  a 
dozen,  ma'am  !"  and  the  foot-sore  woman  presses  her  face 
to  the  basement  \vindows,  and  holds  up  her  wares  with 
a  strange  pertinacity,  even  though  the  mistress  of  the 
mansion  shakes  her  head  many  times,  saying,  "not  to 
day  ;"  and  turns  to  discuss  some  trifling  subject  as  if  there 
were  not  starvation  and  misery  in  the  tones  that  are  dying 
upon  her  ear.  Heart-sick  and  desponding,  the  poor  woman 
turns  away,  and  renews  her  entreaties  at  the  next  neigh 
bor's,  perchance  to  be  spurned  again  and  again ;  for  the 
cosy  tea-hour  has  arrived,  and  husband  and  children  are 
all  gathered  around  the  well-spread  board,  and  it  is 
annoying  to  be  disturbed  by  beggars,  now. 

The  pleading  voice,  and  scanty  raiment,  and  woe-begone 
expression,  jar  sadly  upon  the  glad  home-circle  that  is 
teeming  with  content,  and  plenty,  and  cheerfulness,  and  it  is 
easier  to  send  such  forlornities  off,  and  trouble  yourself  no 
more  about  them,  than  to  break  away  from  your  own 
beloved  and  blessed  ones  to  inquire  into  their  condition 
with  a  view  to  comfort  and  relieve. 

"For  the  love  of  heaven  will  ye  buy  something,  sir," 


NANNIE     BATES.  141 

says  the  half-frantic  creature,  addressing  a  benevolent- 
looking  gentleman  who  had  cast  a  'pitying  glance  upon 
her.  The  stars  are  hidden  by  dense  black  clouds  which 
every  moment  threaten  to  pour  out  their  fury  upon  the 
earth,  and  the  quick  tread  of  the  people  seeking  the  shelter 
of  their  homes  awakens  the  wretched  woman  to  a  last 
effort,  and  she  touches  the  arm  of  the  stranger  in  her 
eagerness  to  secure  his  attention.  "I  have  sold  nothing 
this  day,  sir,  and  the  two  children  at  home  waiting  for  the 
morsel  that  I  have  not  to  carry  them — oh !  buy  something, 
sir,  and  the  blessing  of  the  poor  be  with  ye  !" 

"  Where  do  you  live,  my  good  woman  ?"  asked  the  gen 
tleman,  half  inclined  to  doubt  her.  He  has  so  often  been 
deceived  by  tales  of  sorrow  and  want  which  had  no 
foundation ;  yet  there  is  something  in  the  present  case  that 
banishes  his  suspicions,  and  he  follows  her  as  she  designates 
her  abode.  She  hesitates,  as  they  near  the  spot,  for  fear 
her  husband  would  be  at  home  in  one  of  his  abusive 
moods,  for  her  woman's  heart  would  fain  cover  up  even 
her  bloated  and  loathsome  husband  with  its  loving  and 
forgiving  mantle. 

Was  it  best  to  tell  him,  or  to  persist  in  her  obstinacy, 
and  lose  the  chance  of  supplying  her  children's  need  ?  A 
mother's  affection  prevails,  and  with  a  sigh,  she  descends 
the  steps,  and  opens  the  door  of  her  miserable  dwelling. 
Her  husband  has  not  returned — that  is  well ;  but  what  is 
the  matter  with  Nannie?  Leaning  over  her  cradle  and 
sobbing  as  if  her  heart  will  break,  the  girl  sits,  while  the 


142  NANNIE    BATES. 

darkness  and  want  are  only  made  the  more  visible  by  a 
small  bit  of  an  offensive  tallow  candle  that  is  stuck  in  a 
potatoe  for  a  candlestick. 

"  Is  it  the  child  that  is  sick,  my  girl,  or  what  has  come 
over  ye  that  ye  moan  and  take  on  in  that  manner  ?"  said 
the  woman,  advancing  and  holding  the  candle  close  to  the 
infant's  face — then  perceiving  that  nothing  ailed  the  babe, 
and  supposing  that  the  father  might  be  the  cause  of  the 
girl's  grief,  she  said  no  more  about  it ;  but  bade  Nannie 
hand  the  stool  to  the  gentleman  who  was  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  door  while  the  poor  woman  scrutinized  the 
child. 

"  And  is  this  your  home  ?"  asked  he,  glancing  around 
the  damp,  unwholesome  apartment,  and  shivering  even  in 
the  middle  of  the  month  of  August.  "  Have  you  no  hus 
band,  and  do  you  depend  upon  what  you  sell  daily  from 
this  basket  for  your  living  ?" 

If  she  told  him  that  she  had  a  husband,  he  would  ques 
tion  her,  and  find  out  his  degradation ;  therefore  she  said 
she  was  a  widow,  turning  around  to  cross  herself  as  she 
muttered  softly,  "  the  Lord  forgive  me  the  lie  !" 

"  You  must  be  but  lately  a  widow,"  added  he,  looking 
at  the  tiny  baby  before  him. 

"  Faith,  sir,  ye  must  pardon  me,  an'  I  will  tell  ye  all, 
since  it 's  ye  would  be  taking  the  trouble  to  inquire  of  a 
poor  body  like  me.  Jim 's  been  enticed  away  by  bad  com 
panions  until  it 's  every  thing  we  had  has  been  pawned  for 
spirits,  and  how  could  I  tell  ye  't  was  my  own  husband  that 


-VAX  NIK     BATES.  143 

was  once  so  good  and  kind  to  me,  and  he  not  so  much  to 
blame  as  the  poor  wretches  that  deal  out  to  him  the 
dreadful  stuff!"  and  the  afflicted  woman  hid  her  face 
against  the  wall  and  wept  for  very  shame  that  the  stranger 
should  know  her  husband's  folly.  She  was  interrupted  in 
her  grief  by  the  object  of  it,  who  stumbled  into  the  room, 
kicking  at  the  cradle-rockers  as  he  came  near  tripping  over 
them,  and  doubling  up  his  fists  with  a  show  of  fight  as  his 
eye  fell  upon  the  stranger. 

"•Is  n't  it  m'  own  house  I  'm  in,  Molly  ?"  said  he,  "  and 
what  business  have  you  t'  be  taking  in  lodgers,  and  me  the 
masther  here !"  and  with  that  he  made  a  dive  at  the  gen 
tleman,  who  arose  and  stepped  quietly  aside. 

"  Oh !  Jim,"  said  the  woman,  "  'tis  a  kind  friend  who  is 
afther  helping  us,  when  I  could  sell  nothing  the  day." 

"Who  talks  of  help?  A'nt  I  able  t's'port  m'own 
fam'ly,  I  'd  like  t'  know  ?"  muttered  the  drunken  wretch,  as 
he  fell  a  loathsome  heap  upon  the  straw  in  the  corner  of 
the  room. 

The  stranger  gave  a  compassionate  glance  at  the  wife, 
who  seemed  ready  to  sink  from  mortification  and  sorrow, 
and  putting  some  money  into  her  hand  for  their  present 
necessities,  called  Nannie  to  him,  and  looked  steadily  into 
her  face  one  minute,  and  left  without  a  word.  The  girl 
was  in  his  mind,  though,  as  he  took  the  way  to  his  solitary 
lodgings — for  Mr.  Bond  was  a  bachelor. 

She  was  not  pretty,  nor  very  prepossessing  ;  but  her  ex 
pression  showed  depth  and  character,  and  she  was  worthy  a 


144  NANNIE    BATES. 

better  training.  -At  any  rate  she  must  not  be  left  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  that  brutal  man.  He  will  help  her  to 
make  her  way  in  the  world,  not  by  a  mistaken  charity,  but 
by  teaching  her  self-reliance.  She  must  be  looked  after. 
If  Betty  Lathrop  had  not  been  taken  from  him  so  early  in 
life,  there  might  have  been  a  "  Nannie  Bond"  to  care  for 
and  teach,  and  perhaps  Providence  meant  this  for  his  char 
itable  and  acceptable  labor.  And  Mr.  Bond  rubbed  his 
great  hands  together,  and  sprang  up  the  stairs  to  his  cham 
ber  with  a  boyish  step  and  a  light  heart.  He  had  found 
something  to  do. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THERE  was  a  neat  carpet  upon  the  floor,  and  two  com- 
forjable  rocking-chairs  in  the  room,  one  at  each  window, 
with  nice  plump  cushions  in  them,  and  by  a  center-table,  that 
had  upon  it  a  large  family  Bible,  a  copy  of  "  The  Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  an  almanac,  and  the  "  Daily  Times,"  was  Mr. 
Bond's  easy-chair.  Nobody  ever  occupied  that  chair  but 
himself,  and  sometimes  a  sleek,  gray  cat,  that  once  belong 
ed  to  Betty  Lathrop,  and  would  have  had  a  joint  owner 
ship  had  Providence  spared  the  mistress.  Now  it  was  his 
especial  care,  and  he  would  sit  motionless  by  the  window 
for  hours,  rather  than  disappoint  the  favored  puss  of  one 
tittle  of  her  nap.  There  was  a  picture  of  a  young  woman 
over  the  mantle,  which  Mr.  Bond  thought  a  master  piece 
of  art,  and  which  was  the  constant  theme  of  his  contempla 
tion.  It  had  a  round,  ruddy  face,  and  upon  the  head  was 
a  sort  of  coiffure  which  our  modern  critics  might  eschew ; 
but  which  Mr.  Bond  believed  the  very  perfection  of  ele 
gance.  It  was  composed  of  loops  of  muslin  disposed  on 
each  side  over  a  prolusion  of  brown  curls  which  distended 
the  head  to  an  enormous  width,  and  upon  the  top  was  vis- 


146  NANNIE     BATES. 

ible  a  high  back-comb  which  quite  "  capped  the  climax." 
The  dress  of  the  lady  was  black  silk,  sleeves  "a  la  mouton" 
and  a  collar  of  muslin  with  a  deep  frill  that  reached  nearly 
to  the  elbows.  This  was  fastened  with  a  yellow  glass  pin, 
the  gift  of  Mr.  Bond  on  his  promised  possession  of  the  fair 
maiden  who  was  to  adorn  herself  with  it.  Before  this 
portrait  was  many  a  moment  spent  in  vain  regrets  that  it 
was  only  the  image  of  that  which,  but  for  an  inscrutable 
wisdom,  might  have  been  his.  A  couple  of  glass  lamps, 
and  a  thermometer  formed  the  mantle  ornaments,  and  a 
mailed  figure  of  some  Roman  general  in  bronze,  and  a 
"  Samuel"  done  in  plaster,  completed  the  luxuries  of  the 
apartment. 

It  was  a  cosey  place  to  the  Bachelor  though  !  the  sun 
had  free  access  through  the  curtainless  windows,  and  a 
merry  time  of  it,  it  had  playing  upon  the  benevolent  features 
of  the  good  man,  until  many  a  little  freckle  stood  out,  as 
witness  to  its  audacity.  There  was  not  a  leaf  in  his  neigh 
bor's  garden  just  below  his  windows,  that  was  unfamiliar  to 
him,  and  the  three  little  girls  that  came  out  there  to  play 
beneath  the  trees,  were  always  glad  to  see  the  kind  face 
above  them,  for  many  a  paper  of  sugar-plums  fell  from 
a  capacious  pocket  that  emptied  itself  upon  the  grass,  and 
many  a  pleasant  word  floated  downward,  to  make  them 
happy.  Oh  !  his  was  a  nature  to  make  a  Paradise  of  any 
spot !  so  full  of  love  toward  every  living  thing !  What  if 
his  landlady  was  fidgety  and  exacting,  .and  called  after  him 
every  time  he  entered  the  house,  to  wipe  his  feet,  and 


NANNIE     BATES.  147 

when  she  went  to  make  his  bed,  would  go  around  shovel 
ing  up  the  dirt  from  the  carpet  muttering  all  the 
time  about  "  some  people's  slovenliness  ?"  What  if  his 
fellow-lodgers  always  managed  to  get  his  seat  at  table,  and 
to  eat  up  all  the  toast  and  muffins,  before  he  was  once 
helped,  leaving  him  only  the  dry  bread  with  which  to  satisfy 
a  morning's  appetite  ?  What  if  the  neighbors  did  torment 
him  by  continually  stoning  his  poor  cat  every  time  she 
took  a  walk  in  the  garden  to  breathe  the  fresh  air,  so  that 
he  was  obliged  to  turn  sentinel  over  the  animal's  pedes 
trian  excursions  ?  It  was  n't  any  thing  to  grumble  about, 
and  so  the  peaceful  man  kept  a  sunny  expression  and  a 
blessed  and  good  heart,  and  his  oppressors  only  heaped 
upon  themselves  disagreeable  traits  without  moving  him  to 
a  single  murmur. 

Mr.  Bond  did  not  seem  to  think  it  incumbent  upon  any 
body  else  to  be  kind,  or  attentive,  or  good.  He  had  his 
own  way  of  living  and  doing,  and  it  mattered  little  to  him 
if  all  the  world  went  in  an  opposite  direction,  he  kept 
straight  on  in  his  bright  and  pleasant  path,  and  it  brought 
him  abundant  joy  and  blessedness. 

His  cosey  room  was  unusually  beautiful  and  attractive 
as  he  returned  from  his  visit  to  the  lowly  basement,  and  it 
was  with  a  feeling  of  peculiar  satisfaction  that  he  seated 
himself  by  a  window,  with  his  feet  on  the  sill  and  his  arms 
crossed  upon  his  breast,  while  he  watched  the  vivid  light 
ning  as  it  glided  swiftly  about  amid  the  blackened  heavens. 
Oh !  how  the  rain  descended,  as  if  to  drown  the  very  earth 


148  NANNIE    BATES. 

in  its  pouring  fury.  No  wonder  the  good  man  heaved  a 
sigh  for  the  inmates  of  that  dreary  room,  and  fancied  him 
self  back  in  the  dismal  place,  with  the  cataract  of  waters 
rushing  down,  until  baby,  and  cradle,  and  stool  were  all 
afloat  as  upon  the  great  deep.  He  could  not  bear  it  any 
longer,  and  so  he  took  one  of  the  lamps  from  the  mantle, 
and  struck  a  light,  and  lost  himself  in  his  newspapers. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"!T  won't  .do,  it  won't  do,  Nannie,"  said  the  poor 
woman,  wildly,  as  the  accumulated  drops  streamed  like 
a  rivulet  down  the  steps  of  their  cellar ;  "  we  must  man 
age  to  arouse  your  father,  or  the  morning  '11  never  see  him 
alive !"  and  she  pushed  and  shook  the  inanimate  clog  that 
lay  in  the  corner,  while  the  torrent  still  flowed  on,  until 
fear  for  the  child's  safety  made  her  quit  her  efforts  with  its 
father,  and  snatching  the  infant  from  the  cradle,  and  bid 
ding  Nannie  follow  her,  she  rushed  hastily  out  to  seek  help 
in  order  to  remove  her  miserable  husband.  Not  a  creature 
was  stirring,  for  the  bitterness  of  the  storm  had  driven 
every  breathing  thing  under  shelter.  Still  undaunted,  she 
moves  on,  folding  her  thin  and  drenched  garments  around 
the  babe,  until  a  watchman  stops  her  with  a  rude  demand 
as  to  what  calls  her  forth  in  the  pitiless  night  ?  She  heedi 
not  his  roughness,  but  pulls  him  by  the  coat,  while  h$ 
vainly  endeavors  to  shake  her  off,  and  entreats  him  to  aid 
her  helpless  husband. 

"  Where  is  he,  woman  ?  and  what  do  you  want  ?"  asks 
the  besieged  man,  as  she  continues  to  drag  him  along  with 
a  maniac's  strength. 


150  NANNIE    BATES. 

It  is  a  long  time  that  has  elapsed  since  she  left  her 
threatened  home,  and  the  waves  have  found  their  victim. 
They  are  not  affrighted  at  the  hideous  spectacle  of  a 
brutish  and  disfigured  one,  but  they  leap  caressingly  about 
him,  gliding  over  his  pillow  and  hushing  him  into  a  deep 
and  lasting  sleep.  The  empty  cradle,  and  the  stool,  and 
the  rough  board  table  with  the  flickering  light  upon  it, 
float  above  the  flowing  tide  as  the  watchman  enters  the  dis 
mal  cellar  with  the  agonized  woman  and  her  children. 
She  springs  to  the  corner,  and  while  he  feels  for  the  heavy 
mass  with  his  club,  she  raises  it  with  her  tender  hands, 
and  supports  the  drooping  head  upon  her  loving  breast, 
while  a  cry  of  anguish  goes  out  from  the  heart  that  could 
never  spurn  him,  even  in  his  lowest  moments. 

It  is  not  of  any  use  to  chafe  the  cold  temple,  nor  to  try 
to  bring  back  the  departed  life !  You  '11  be  better  without 
him,  poor  soul,  though  it  is  dreadful  to  feel  that  he  has 
gone  hence  in  his  sins  !  No  wonder  Nannie  shrinks  away 
as  the  watchman,  with  the  aid  of  one  of  his  fellows  whom  a 
spring  of  his  rattle  brings  to  the  spot,  bears  their  father 
out  on  their  way  to  the  dead-house.  He  had  never  been 
kind  to  her  since  she  can  remember,  and  his  coming  has 
occasioned  only  a  terrible  fear  and  dread  from  day  to  day, 
yet  she  sobs  out  of  sympathy  for  her  mother,  whose  grief 
is  fearful  to  witness. 

They  follow  the  corpse,  and  all  night  long  the  poor 
woman  keeps  her  widowed  vigils  around  the  place  where 
they  have  deposited  her  husband.  She  thinks  not  of  the 


NANNIE     BATES.  151 

child  upon  her  bosom,  nor  does  she  heed  nor  resist  Nannie 
as  she  takes  it  gently  away  and  runs  back  to  the  region  of 
the  overflowed  cellar.  The  morning  has  dawned  in  se 
renity  and  loveliness,  but  there  are  signs  of  a  late  devasta 
tion  all  about.  Broken  limbs  of  trees  are  strewn  hither 
and  thither,  while  now  and  then  one  wholly  uprooted  lies 
prostrate  across  the  street.  Busy  men  are  working  hur 
riedly  to  extricate  a  poor  family  whose  house  a  land-slide 
has  quite  buried.  The  mother  and  father  have  escaped 
the  catastrophe,  but  their  boy  and  girl  are  crushed  in  the 
fallen  ruins.  Deep  gullies  in  the  hill  above  her  home  show 
Nannie  how  fearful  was  the  storm,  and  a  mass  of  stones 
and  rubbish  that  fill  the  sluice,  that  should  have  turned  the 
water  from  their  door,  tell  her  the  reason  of  their  dreadful 
inundation.  She  is  trying  to  think 'whether  it  is  dreadful 
to  her  or  not,  when  a  kind  voice  accosts  her.  "  What 's 
the  matter  here  3"  says  Mr.  Bond ;  "  and  what  are  you  and 
the  baby  out  for  in  this  soaking  condition?  Isn't  your 
mother  in  the  house,  "and  have  n't  you  a  dry  rag  to  put  upon 
that  poor  child  ?  't  will  get  its  death,  and  you,  too  ;  come 
in  here,  quick,  and  let 's  see  what  can  be  done." 

"  If  you  please  sir,  father 's  drowned  in  the  rain  last 
night,  and  my  mother's  up  by  the  dead-house,  and  me 
and  baby  have  n't  any  home  any  more  to  go  to,  nor  any 
dry  clothes  to  wear,"  said  Nannie,  wringing  the  little  frock 
that  clung  to  the  shivering  infant,  and  following  her  friend 
half-way  down  the  steps  to  the  cellar. 

"  JusFas   I  feared !"   said   he,  looking  into  the   room 


152  NANNIE     BATES. 

and  quickly  retreating ;  "  the  poor  wretch  has  met  a 
sudden  and  awful  doom,  the  Lord  preserve  us  all  I'Wnd, 
telling  Nannie  to  keep  up  with  him,  he  led  the  way  to  a 
higher  and  more  healthy  quarter  of  the  street,  and  stopped 
at  a  tidy-looking'  house,  where  a  neatly  clad  woman  an 
swered  his  rap.  "You  have  lodgings  to  let?"  asked  he, 
glancing  with  an  evident  pleasure  upon  the  white  floor  of 
the  entry  that  showed  no  spot  nor  stain. 

"  Why,  yes,  sir,"  returned  she  with  an  uneasy  look  at 
the  forlorn  child  and  baby  on  the  step ;  "  there 's  a  room 
and  bedroom  in  the  attic  to  let  to  respectable  people 
as  has  no  followers,  nor  drinkings,  nor  carousings,  nor 
such  like  about  'em." 

"  Let  me  see  them,  my  good  woman,"  said  Mr.  Bond ; 
"  I  '11  make  all  right  if  they  suit,"  and  he  went  puffing  up 
the  three  flights  of  stairs,  while  Nannie  pattered  after  him 
with  the  infant,  drabling  her  wet  garments  over  the  clean 
floors,  to  the  no  small  annoyance  of  the  landlady.  "  These  '11 
do,  these  '11  do,"  said  Mr.  Bond,  with  a  glee  some  tone,  as 
he  looked  from  the  windows  upon  the  blue  waters, 
where  the  boats  were  gliding  busily  back  and  forth, 
and  whence  the  pure  fresh  breeze  came  up  even  into 
the  rooms,  giving  them  a  healthful  air.  "  This  is  to  be 
your  home  now,  Nannie,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  '11  help 
you  to  be  somebody  if  you  '11  help  yourself ;"  and,  turning  to 
the  woman,  he  told  her  the  reason  of  the  child's  pitiable 
condition,  and  payed  her  in  advance  a  quarter's  rent, 
giving  her  also  some  money  with  which  to  procure  a  dry 


NANNIE    BATES.  153 

suit  for  the  children ;  and  then  he  departed  to  send  the 
few  articles  of  furniture  from  their  former  abode,  to  which 
he  added  a  bedstead  and  bedding,  a  nice  cooMng-stove,  a 
couple  of  chairs,  and  a  few  other  conveniences. 

Nannie  was  almost  beside  herself  for  joy  as  she  surveyed 
the  snug  and  cheerful  apartment,  and  the  new  goods  as 
they  stood  in  their  respective  places.  The  chairs  were  by 
the  windows,  and  the  stool  occupied  a  prominent  position 
before  the  new  stove  ;  the  old  table  was  covered  with  an 
oil-cloth,  and  a  brass  candlestick  and  snuffers  were  upon  it. 
There  was  a  pound  of  crackers,  and  a  loaf  of  bread  ;  and  a 
pint  of  milk,  and  a  new  tin  cup  and  pewter  spoon  for  Win 
nie,  and  Nannie  hastened  to  give  the  starving  child  some 
of  the  fresh  milk,  while  she  sat  beside  the  pleasant  window 
wondering  if  Mr.  Bond  was  one  of  the  angels  that  her 
teacher  used  to  tell  her  about — and  then  she  laid  the  baby 
upon  the  soft  bed  in  its  cradle,  and  put  a  new  blanket  over 
it,  and  peeping  into  the  bedroom  again  to  see  if  she  had  n't 
been  dreaming  there  was  a  real  bedstead  there,  all  nicely 
furnished  and  dressed,  she  went  off  to  seek  her  mother, 
locking  the  door  carefully  after  her  as  her  kind  friend  h&J 
directed. 

7* 


CHAPTER  V. 

IT  was  hard  to  hurry  him  off  so  and  to  cover  him  up 
from  the  face  of  his  own  wife,  even  if  he  was  a  loathsome 
drunkard  1  But  they  could  n't  keep  him  there  long,  for 
new  victims  were  constantly  arriving,  and  he  must  give 
place  to  them,  and  so  they  hustled  him  off  in  a  deal  box, 
without  pall,  or  procession,  or  priest,  and  they  did  not 
mind  the  woman  and  child  that  followed  on  and  stood  side 
by  side  at  the  place  of  his  burial ;  but  they  covered  him 
over  with  the  damp  earthr  and  never  a  prayer  above  his 
head ;  and  so  they  went  away  again,  perchance  to  repeat 
the  office  for  another  miserable  one. 

"Mother,"  says  Nannie,  as  the  hardened  band  moved 
away  leaving  the  one  mourning  heart  by  itself,  "  mother, 
come  home  now,  'tis  no  use  staying  here,  and  baby  '11  be 
crying  for  ye,  ye  know." 

Baby  ! — oh  !  what,  a  link  to  earth  was  that ! 

"  Where  is  the  child  ?"  said  the  mother,  with  a  frantic 
start,  as  if  just  awakened  from  a  frightful  dream.  "Isn't 
she  dead,  Nannie  ?  Did  n't  they  just  bury  her  with  your 
father  ?"  and  she  cast  herself  upon  the  moist  turf,  and  tore 
her  disheveled  hair  until  the  very  wildness  of  her  sorrow 


NANNIE    BATES.  155 

calmed  her.  TJien  she  suffered  Nannie  to  lead  her  away. 
It  was  a  long  distance ;  but  they  reached  it  at  last,  and  the 
mother  rushed  quickly  up  the  stairs,  not  seeming  conscious 
of  the  change,  as  he  heard  the  child's  cries ;  for  the  poor 
little  thing,  unused  to  such  long  neglect,  made  all  ring 
again  with  its  screams. 

"  Did  you  say  this  was  home,  Nannie,  or  is  it  heaven, 
child  ?"  said  the  woman,  as  her  babe  was  hushed,  and  she 
became  somewhat  awake  to  her  new  position. 

The  sun  was  streaming  upon  the  floor,  and  wall,  and  the 
snowy  curtains  were  fluttering  in  the  pure  breeze,  and  the 
blue  waves  were  dancing  and  sparkling  in  the  bay,  and 
white  sails  were  moving  rapidly  about,  and  from  the 
windows  two  beautiful  islands  were  visible  with  their 

P 

summer  verdure,  and  the  bewildered  mother  pressed  her 
hand  to  her  forehead,  as  if  trying  to  unravel  the  mystery, 
when  Mr.  Bond's  fat  and  merry  face  peered  in  at  the 
door. 

"  All  right,"  said  he,  with  a  glad  smile,  "  how  are  you 
getting  along  here,  eh  ?  Rather  better  than  the  old  cellar, 
is  n't  it,  Nannie  ?"  and  helping  himself  to  a  chair,  he  took 
the  baby  from  its  mother,  pinching  its  cheeks  and  chirrup 
ing  to  make  it  laugh,  until  even  Mrs.  Bates  was  forced  into 
a  more  cheerful  mood.  But  the  tears  would  not  stay  long 
away,  and  as  the  memory  of  her  loss  came  from  her  from 
time  to  time,  she  burst  forth  in  a  bewailing  strain  to  her 
kind  benefactor, 

"  Ye 's  too  good  to  me,  sir,  and  its  thankful  to  ye  I  am 


156  NAM  XI  12     BATES. 

for  it  all ;  but  it 's  my  own  husband  that 's  taken  suddenly 
from  me,  and  ye  '11  not  be  minding  the  grief." 

"  I  know  all  about  it,  my  good  woman,"  said  he,  the 
muscles  about  his  mouth  quivering  with  emotion.  He  was 
thinking  of  a  green  grave  afar  off,  with  a  maiden  name 
upon  it,  and  a  true  heart  moldering  beneath.  "  But  don't 
tell  me  any  more,  think  of  the  living  that  have  got  to  be 
cared  for,  and  you  '11  have  no  time  to  lament  the  dead," 
and  he  chucked  the  baby  under  the  chin,  and  dandled  it 
upon  his  fat  knees,  as  if  he  had  been  used  to  it  all  his  life. 

"  It 's  the  Lord  will  reward  ye,  sir,  for  looking  after  the 
fatherless  and  widowed,"  said  the  woman,  as  she  cast  a 
thankful  glance  about  the  cheerful  room,  and  then  upon 
the  benevolent  face  before  her.  "  There ']!  be  three  wit 
nesses  for  ye  if  ever  we  get  to  the  blessed  land,  and  sure 
ye  '11  not  need  them  either,  I  'm  thinking !" 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  said  the  kind  man ;  "  I  like 
to  help  them  that  are  trying  to  get  up  in  the  world,  and 
you  '11  know  where  to  find  a  friend  whenever  you  are  in 
trouble — I  '11  look  in  upon  you  once  in  a  while  to  see  how 
the  children  get  on,"  and  he  handed  her  a  card  with  the 
number  of  his  lodging  upon  it,  saying  as  he  went  out  the 
door,  . 

"  Don't  forget  to  send  for  Peter  Bond,  when  you  need 
any  thing." 

"  Blessings  on  his  big  soul !"  says  the  poor  woman,  as  his 
retreating  footsteps  die  upon  the  stairs.  "  It  is  like  taking 
away  the  light,  to  lose  sight  of  his  merry  countenance !" 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"WAKE  up,  child,"  said  the  mother,  giving  Nannie  a 
gentle  shake ;  "  the  sun  's  high  in  the  heavens,  and  it 's 
lazing  we  are  in  our  blessed  bed." 

No  wonder  they  pull  the  nice  spread  over  them,  and 
sink  down  again  upon  the  soft  pillows,  feeling  that  there 
could  be  no  greater  luxury  on  earth.  "But  it  must  not 
make  them  idle,"  Mrs.  Bates  says,  and  so  Nannie  jumps 
up  and  dresses  the  baby,  while  her  mother  prepares  the 
breakfast. 

Was  there  ever  stove  like  that !  There 's  a  pleasant 
smell  to  the  polish  as  it  burns  off,  and  the  wood  has  such  a 
crackling,  cheery  sound ;  and  the  hot  steam  from  the  In 
dian  cakes  sends  forth  an  inviting  odor  as  the  brown  sides 
are  turned  upward. 

Never  mind  if  it  is  mid-summer !  the  windows  are  open, 
and  the  superfluous  heat  escapes,  and  the  fresh  air  mingles 
with  and  tempers  the  warmth  of  the  room,  so  that  it  is 
nice  and  comfortable ;  it  is  so  much  better  and  more  whole 
some  than  the  damp,  dark  basement.  There  is  a  slight 
tinge  upon  baby's  cheek  already,  and  Nannie  does  n't  look 
quite  so  pale  and  sickly  as  she  stands  before  the  little  mir- 


158  NANNIE    BATES. 

ror  to  brush  her  hair.  "  Oh  !  an  attic 's  the  place,  mother ! 
is  n't  it  ?"  says  she,  as  she  danced  about  the  room  with 
Winnie.  "  We  can  breathe  better  up  here,  and  Winnie  '11 
grow  stout  and  healthy,  for  the  sun  comes  in  here,"  and 
she  smoothed  her  tiny  palm  over  a  bright  beam  that  lay 
upon  the  child's  head,  and  kissed  it  as  if  it  were  a  living, 
grateful  presence.  Winnie,  too,  crowed,  and  jumped,  and 
twisted  her  wee  fingers  in  the  warm  rays,  and  seemed  quite 
conscious  that  something  great  and  good  had  happened  to 
her.  The  mother  participated  in  the  joy,  but  as  they  sat 
down  to  a  comfortable  breakfast,  and  she  missed  the  red 
features  that  had  so  long  been  opposite,  her  knife  and  fork 
dropped  from  her  hands,  and  the  food  was  salted  with 
bitter  tears 

"  Mother,"  said  Nannie,  putting  down  her  untasted  cake, 
"  ye  '11  be  breaking  your  heart  for  the  dead  father,  and  then 
what  '11  Winnie  and  me  do  ?  I  '11  not  eat  a  morsel  till  ye 
dry  your  tears  and  help  me !"  and  she  folded  her  hands 
and  sat  gazing  upon  her  mother,  with  the  drops  in  her  own 
.eyes,  until  she  saw  her  make  an  effort  to  eat.  It  was  a 
quiet  meal,  though,  and  soon  over,  and  the  child  was  left  to 
tidy  the  house,  while  the  mother  went  forth  to  sell  her 
wares.  She  did  not  mind  so  much  being  repulsed  now,  for 
even  if  she  failed  to  profit  by  her  day's  labor,  there  was  a 
willing  friend  to  fall  back  upon,  so  that  there  was  no  fear 
of  starving ;  so,  with  a  light  step,  she  trudged  along,  and 
the  people  wondered  what  had  come  over  the  poor  huck 
ster  woman. 


NANNIE     BATES.  159 

There  was  such  a  winning,  cheerful  sound  in  her  voice 
as  she  tapped  at  the  window  and  said,  "  Any  thing  to-day, 
ma'am  ?"  they  could  not  let  her  go  without  purchasing 
something — a  piece  of  tape,  or  a  few  pins,  or  a  bunch  of 
matches.  It  did  not  matter  if  they  were  at  breakfast, 
father  could  wait  a  minute  for  his  coffee,  and  mother  would 
write  an  excuse  for  the  children  to  take  to  school,  so  they 
open  the  window,  and  make  their  bargains,  and  hand  out 
the  pennies,  and  the  happy  woman  goes  tripping  along, 
lighter  both  in  basket  and  heart,  and  the  breakfast  has  an 
uncommon  relish,  so  all  think  as  they  gather  around  the 
table  again.  Charity  is  a  capital  seasoner. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

MR.  BOND  sits  beside  his  center-table  with  his  legs 
crossed  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  portrait.  He  wonders 
what  Betty  Lathrop  would  advise  him  to  do  about  the 
poor  girl  if  she  could  speak.  He  hears  a  great  deal  about 
spiritual  manifestations  and  communications,  but  he  has  no 
faith  in  them,  and  even  if  he  had  he  would  n't  be  guilty  of 
disturbing  a  departed  soul  unless  for  something  of  great 
moment. 

He  thinks  he  reads  her  approbation  of  his  conduct,  thus 
far,  in  the  mild  eyes  that  seem  to  look  encouragingly  upon 
him.  Good  old  man,  it  would  puzzle  the  saints  to  find 
fault  with  any  of  thy  pure  impulses ! 

He  wonders  if  Nannie  ever  went  to  school,  and  if  she 
has  read  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  ?  He  '11  take  it  round  there 
some  day,  her  education  must  n't  be  neglected,  and  she 
can't  be  spared  from  Winnie  to  go  to  school  now.  He 
has  n't  any  body  tc  care  for,  and  why  should  n't  he  make 
those  children  his  especial  charge !  Puss  rises  slowly 
from  the  rug,  where  she  has  been  lying  curled  up  this  long 
time,  shakes  herself,  and  puts  her  two  fore  paws  on  Mr. 
Bond's  knees,  as  if  to  remind  him  that  he  has  something  to 


NANNIE     BATES.  161 

care  for  and  cherish,  and  then  walks  back  again  and  puts 
herself  in  the  old  position,  while  her  great  orbs  are  rolled 
up  at  the  master. 

"  It  will  not  make  any  difference  to  you,  puss,"  says  Mr. 
Bond,  leaning  over  and  stroking  the  warm  fur ;  "  there 's 
milk  enough  for  you  and  Winnie  too,  and  she  'd  have  done 
it,  I  know,"  pointing  upward  to  the  portrait,  as  if  the  cat 
understood  it  all ;  then  he  took  his  hat  and  cane  in  his 
hand  and  went  down  stairs,  stopping  at  his  landlady's 
room  to  tell  her  "  if  a  poor  little  girl  with  a  baby  should 
come  to  see  him,  not  to  send  her  away,  but  to  let  her  go  to 
his  room  and  rest." 

"  Pretty  piece  of  business  !"  said  Mrs.  Kinalden,  as  he  left 
the  house  ;  "  tis  n't  any  beggars'  brats  I  '11  have  tracking 
the  dirt  up  my  stair-ways,  I  '11  warrant  ye !"  and  she 
flourished  her  soup-ladle  as  if  in  defiance  of  ah1  such  en 
croaches  upon  her  blessed  domain, 

Mr.  Bond  did  n't  hear  nor  see  it,  though,  for  his  elastic 
step  was  away  down  the  street,  and  if  he  had  he  would 
have  thought  it  only  Mrs.  Kinalden's  way,  and  would  not 
have  taken  offense  at  it.  There  was  so  much  that  was 
bright  and  good  in  his  own  heart  that  he  could  not  feel 
the  ill  that  was  in  other  people's  natures,  and  his  life 
passed  as  smoothly  as  if  he  were  not  continually  subjected 
to  petty  annoyances  from  those  about  him  who  imposed 
upon  his  forbearance  and  amiability. 

Earth  was  beautiful  to  him,  and  so  was  life ;  there  had 
been  but  one  dark  spot  in  his  whole  existence,  and  that 


162  NANNIE     BATES. 

was  when  Betty  Lathrop  twined  her  young  arms  around 
his  great  neck  and  told  him  she  must-  die. 

Her  grave  was  very  green,  though,  and  there  were  roses 
of  his  own  planting  around  it,  and  a  pure  white  lily ;  and 
there  was  a  holy  light  always  visible  to  him  just  above  it, 
as  of  an  angel  with  glorious  wings  hovering.  He  did  n't 
feel  as  if  she  had  departed  wholly  from  him  because 
he  could  not  see  her  bodily  presence,  for  he  knew  that  the 
love  was  still  with  him,  and  this  it  was  that  shed  such 
a  halo  all  about  his  pathway,  and  there  can  not  be  sadness 
nor  gloom  where  such  a  consciousness  exists. 

There  are  not  many  Peter  Bonds  in  the  world  though ! 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

OH  !  what  a  gleesome  time  Nannie  had  all  the  long 
summer  day  up  so  near  the  blue  heavens !  There  was  a 
rapturous  sort  of  joy  in  watching  the  fleecy  clouds  as  they 
played  in  the  pure  ether,  and,  while  baby  slept,  she  would 
kneel  down  by  the  window  with  her  head  turned  side-way 
upon  her  arm,  and  look  into  the  depths  of  the  sky  until 
she  fancied  she  saw  the  spirits  beyond ;  and  then  her 
little  soul  would  try  to  dream  out  the  mystery  of  being  and 
immortality.  She  did  n't  think  so  much  of  this  in  the  damp 
dark  cellar — every  thing  there  seemed  to  draw  her  earth 
ward  ;  but  it  was  exalting,  and  refining,  and  purifying,  to  be 
up  so  near  the  angels,  and  the  change  was  manifested  even 
in  her  face,  which  grew  more  spiritual,  and  was  really  quite 
winning  now. 

Her  happiness  was  almost  perfect  as  she  contrasted  the 
sad  past  with  the  bright  present.  There  was  only  one 
thing  more  to  long  for,  and  that  was  books.  She  could 
read  very  well,  but  all  the  literature  she  possessed  was 
Robinson  Crusoe,  which  one  of  the  ladies  at  the  school 
had  given  her,  and  that  she  had  learned  almost  by  heart, 


164  NANNIE     BATES. 

BO  that  she  sung  page  after  page  to  "Winnie  as  she  lulled 
her  to  sleep,  and  now  she  craved  something  more.  She 
was  thinking  so  earnestly  about  it  that  she  did  not  hear 
Mr.  Bond's  knock,  nor  perceive  that  he  had  entered  the 
room  and  seated  himself  by  the  other  window,  until  he 
touched  her  shoulder  with  his  cane  across  the  table. 

"  Nannie,"  said  he,  as  she  started  and  asked  his  pardon 
for  not  noticing  him,  "  I  've  brought  a  book  to  lend  you ; 
would  you  like  to  read  it  ?" 

A  book !  Who  could  have  told  him  that  of  all  things  in 
the  world  that  was  what  she  most  desired  ? 

"•  Oh  !  thank  you,  sir,"  said  she,  as  her  eyes  glistened  for 
joy ;  I  'm  so  glad  of  it,  sir !"  and  she  turned  the  leaves  and 
looked  at  the  illustrations,  while  he  watched  her  with  a 
deep  interest. 

"  She  would  know  all  that  she  need  to  know  when  she 
had  read  the  Bible  and  Pilgrim's  Progress."  So  Mr.  Bond 
thought.  He  had  not  noticed  that  there  was  no  Bible 
there.  He  forgot  that  there  could  be  a  person  in  the 
world  destitute  of  the  precious  Word  of  Life,  and  he  would 
have  gone  off  without  finding  out  Nannie's  great  need,  if 
she  had  not  reminded  him  of  it  as  she  turned  to  the  ex 
planation  of  the  allegory  appended  to  the  work  in  her 
hand.  "  Oh  !  it  tells  about  Heaven !  does  n't  it  ?"  said  she, 
looking  at  her  kind  friend  with  a  sparkling  eye. 

"  Have  n't  you  a  Bible,  Nannie  ?"  asked  he,  seeking 
vainly  for  one  about  the  room. 

"No,  sir,"  replied  the  child.     "We  haven't  had  one 


NANNIE    BATES.  165 

for  a  long  time.  Miss  Earl  gave  me  one  at  the  school, 
but  my  father  took  it." 

Poor  soul !  no  food  for  thee,  while  the  world  is  teeming 
with  the  blessed  Book !  Tear  off  the  gilt  clasps,  and  the 
velvet  bindings,  and  scatter  the  healing  leaves  that  are 
hidden  within,  all  about  among  the  people.  Let  not  one 
hungry  one  perish  for  lack  of  Heaven's  bread  while  there 
is  enough  and  to  spare  lying  all  about  useless!  "Her 
father  took  it !"  What  for  ?  to  learn  the  way  to  Paradise  ? 
Ah  !  no — to  pawn  for  the  hot  liquid  that  must  drown  him 
in  perdition.  And  the  dealer  in  the  dreadful  traffic  took 
it — dared  to  snatch  from  his  fellow  man  the  comforting 
words  sent  unto  him  by  a  loving  God,  and  to  substitute 
instead  the  poisonous  and  damning  cup !  Even  Satan  him 
self  must  loathe  him!  Mr.  Bond  sees  it  all — he  knows 
where  the  Book  has  gone.  But  Nannie  shall  have  another, 
and  she  must  promise  to  study  it  every  day. 

"  I  '11  send  you  one,  Nannie,"  said  he,  "  and  a  little  stand 
to  keep  it  on — d'  ye  hear  ?"  and  the  kind  man  hurried  off 
to  get  the  holy  volume.  To  think  that  he  had  not  seen  to 
that  before  !  It  was  a  moment  of  penitence  to  good  Mr. 
Bond. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IT  was  nice  for  Winnie  to  sleep  so  sweetly !  Now  Nan 
nie  could  look  over  the  book.  It  was  far  before  Robinson 
Crusoe  !  She  went  with  Christian  every  step  of  his  journey, 
and  experienced  the  same  joys,  and  suffered  the  same  ter 
rors.  Oh  !  it  was  so  good  of  Mr.  Bond  to  lend  her  this 
book !  She  sat  by  the  cradle  with  one  hand  upon  it,  so 
that  if  Winnie  stirred  she  could  hush  her ;  and  she  did  not 
see  the  long  shadows  in  the  room,  nor  remember  that  the 
fire  must  be  made,  and  the  table  prepared  for  tea,  and  the 
water  brought,  before  her  mother  came,  until  it  was  too 
dark  to  read  any  longer.  Then  she  started  up  and  got  the 
pail.  She  was  almost  afraid  to  go  to  the  pump,  for  there 
were  some  very  rude  boys  in  its  vicinity,  and  she  had 
never  ventured  out  so  late  before.  But  she  must  go ;  she 
was  very  wrong  to  put  it  off  so,  and  she  ran  as  quick  as 
she  could  with  a  beating  and  timid  heart. 

"  That 's  the  new  gal,  as  lodges  in  Mrs.  Flin's  house 
where  the  fat  man  goes  so  often,"  said  a  rough-looking  lad 
to  a  ragged  and  dirty  group,  that  huddled  about  the 
walk. 


NANNIE     BATES.  167 

"  Let 's  have  at  her,"  returned  another,  and  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word,  he  flew  along  the  street  after  the  fright 
ened  child,  with  the  whole  troup  following  him. 

The  little  thing  tried  hard  to  out-run  them ;  but 't  was 
in  vain  ;  they  were  close  upon  her,  and  one  had  kicked  the 
pail  from  her  hand,  while  another  was  about  to  tear  the 
string  from  her  neat  sun-bonnet  which  he  had  snatched 
from  her  head; 

"  Be  off,  or  I  '11  bate  the  life  out  of  every  mother's  son 
of  ye,  an'  my  name 's  Pat  Rourke,"  said  a  tall  Irish  boy 
who  came  up  that  moment,  laying  about  him  right  and  left 
among  the  little  brutes,  who  scampered  in  every  direction, 
not  without  a  few  wholesome  bruises  as  witnesses  to  Pat's 
bravery.  "  Come  on,  my  little  girl,"  added  he,  taking 
Nannie's  trembling  hand,  "  I  '11  get  the  wather  for  ye ;"  and 
taking  up  the  pail,  he  filled  it,  and  carried  it  quite  to  the 
child's  room.  "  It 's  a  purty  place  ye  have  herfe,"  said  he, 
looking  from  the  windows,  "  and  a  nice  little  sister,"  as 
Nannie  took  the  waking  child  from  the  cradle.  "  Here  let 
me  make  the  fire  for  ye,"  continued  he,  seeing  the  awk- 
Avardness  of  working  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  "  and  don't 
go  to  the  pump  again,  Pat  Rourke's  the  boy  as  '11  get  the 
wather,  when  he  comes  from  the  coal-yard  o'  nights ;  ye 
may  put  the  pail  down  by  the  door  in  the  enthry,  an'  its 
quickly  ye  '11  find  it  filled ;"  and  the  noble-hearted  boy 
stubbed  out  of  the  room,  with  his  heavy  boots  clumping 
down,  down,  down. 

"Every  body's  good  to  me,"  thought  Nannie,  the  fll 


168  NANNIE    BATES. 

usage  of  the  moment  before  quite  forgotten  in  the  joy  at 
finding  so  kind  a  champion. 

The  room  looked  nice  and  cheery  when  Mrs.  Bates  re 
turned.  The  new  stand  was  in  the  corner,  with  the  new 
Bible  upon  it,  and  the  table  was  spread  with  a  frugal,  but 
wholesome  meal ;  and  Nannie  seemed  so  bright,  and  the 
baby  so  sprightly  and  well.  Besides  she  had  sold  all  her 
wares,  at  a  good  profit,  so  that  she  was  free  from  care  for 
the  time,  at  least.  Nannie  had  a  great  deal  to  tell  about 
Mr.  Bond,  and  the  book  he  had  brought  her,  and  of  Pat 
Eourke,  her  manly  protector ;  and  the  mother  began  to 
think  the  bright  days  were  dawning  upon  them  indeed ! 
She  did  n't  forget  the  sorrow  that  had  so  lately  come  to 
her;  but  there  was  a  joy  in  the  children  that  was  infec 
tious,  and  her  smiles  were  more  frequent  than  her  tears. 


CHAPTER   X. 

MRS.  FLIN  seemed  to  her  new  lodgers  to  be  a  quiet  kind 
of  body,  keeping  her  own  house  without  minding  much 
about  her  neighbors.  The  truth  of  it  was  she  held  herself 
a  good  deal  above  them,  for  she  was  well  to  do  in  the  world. 
Besides  she  visited  in  the  next  street  at  the  large  white 
house  with  green  blinds,  where  they  kept  a  hired  girl,  and 
to  be  sure  she  did  n't  care  for  the  people  that  took  one  or 
two  rooms  of  her,  and  lived  in  a  small  way,  save  for  the 
money  they  paid  her ;  she  was  pretty  sure  to  make  them 
all  a  call  once  a  quarter  at  least,  and  woe  betide  them  if 
the  rent-money  was  not  forthcoming !  She  did  n't  call  her 
self  a  hard-hearted  woman ;  but  she  must  look  out  for  her 
own  rights  since  Mr.  Flin  Wcos  off  at  sea  the  greater  part 
of  the  time,  and  there  was  nobody  to  take  the  responsi 
bility  from  her. 

One  thing  troubled  her  considerably,  and  that  was  that 
such  a  gentlemanly-looking  man  as  Mr.  Bond  should  lavish 
all  his  favors  and  visits  upon  her  poor  lodger's  children. 
She  thought  he  might  as  well  stop  sometimes  on  the  first 
floor  and  notice  her  little  Sammy;  but  he  never  did — 
although  she  often  met  him  in  the  entry,  and  invited  him 

8 


170  NANNIE    BATES. 

to  walk  in  and  rest  before  going  up  the  long  flights  of 
stairs — but  went  panting  upward  with  his  gold-headed 
cane  in  his  hand,  and  the  ruffles  to  his  shirt  rising  and 
falling  at  every  ascent. 

Sammy  was  a  sad  little  rascal,  and  would  throw  apple- 
skins  on  the  entry  floor,  and  lay  round  pebbles  on  the 
lowest  stair,  hoping  to  trip  the  old  man  up  as  he  came 
in  or  went  out,  and  Mr.  Bond  caught  him  at  it,  so  that 
he  was  always  careful  afterward  to  kee.p  an  eye  to  his  feet. 
But  the  boy  stood  in  his  own  light,  for  there  were  no  favors 
for  him  after  that.  Mr.  Bond  never  patronized  wicked 
children. 

His  mother  would  manage  to  stand  in  the  door,  when 
ever  she  saw  the  gentleman  coming,  with  Sammy  by  her 
side,  and  she  would  ask  him  if  he  was  n't  fond  of  children, 
and  tell  him  what  a  good  boy  Sammy  was  at  school,  and 
how  well  he  got  on  with  his  lessons ;  and  then  Sammy 
must  speak  his  last  piece  to  Mr.  Bond.  But  it  would  not 
do ;  he  stood  it  all  very  patiently,  and  when  she  had  the 
grace  to  leave  space  enough  for  him  to  pass  her,  he  would 
make  his  bow  and  walk  gravely  on,  glad  to  reach  the  shel 
ter  of  the  pleasant  attic.  Mrs.  Flin  laid  it  up  against  him, 
though,  and  threw  out  many  an  innuendo  concerning  his 
frequent  visits  to  the  poor  children,  when  gossiping  with 
her  friend  of  the  white  house,  and  so  it  reached  his  land 
lady,  Mrs.  Kinalden,  who  knew  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Airly  very 
well. 

"  A  strange  how  d'  ye  do  it  is,"  said  she  to  Mr.  Bond, 


NANXIE     BATES.  171 

one  evening  on  his  return  from  Nannie's,  "that  I  must 
keep  my  doors  open  till  half  past  nine  o'clock,  for  you  to 
be  out  on  your  untimely  visits  to  a  poor  widder !  It  is  n't 
any  sich  doings  Susan  Kinalden  '11  countenance,  you  'd 
better  believe !" 

Mr.  Bond  did  not  think  her  worth  one  moment's  ex 
citability,  so  he  calmly  told  her  she  could  find  another 
occupant  for  his  room  if  she  was  dissatisfied  with  his  con 
duct,  and  he  would  seek  a  home  elsewhere. 

It  was  wonderful  how  changed  she  was  when  he  went 
down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning.  There  were  hot  eggs 
beside  his  plate,  and  a  dish  of  warm  toast,  and  the  land 
lady  was  full  of  her  compliments.  "  She  did  n't  see  how 
Mr.  Bond  managed  to  look  so  fresh  and  young!  She  was 
on  the  sunny  side  of  fifty,  and  anybody  would  take  him  to 
be  her  brother!"  and  when  he  asked  her  what  time  he 
should  remove  his  furniture,  she  wondered  he  had  lived  so 
long  in  the  house  with  her  and  never  yet  found  out  her 
jesting  propensities.  She  's  sure  she  could  n't  desire  a  nicer 
or  more  circumspect  boarder  than  Mr.  Bond !  And  so  the 
matter  passed  over.  She  knew  her  own  interest  too  well 
to  venture  on  forbidden  ground  again.  And  he  had  got 
attached  to  the  room,  and  did  not  care  to  leave  it.  The 
portrait  had  occupied  that  same  space  for  more  than  ten 
years,  and  there  was  a  sacred  sort  of  feeling  about  the 
place  that  he  could  not  find  elsewhere.  Puss  liked  her 
quarters  too,  and  it  was  not  worth  while  to  seek  a  change 
so  long  as  she  did  n't  complain.  Mr.  Bond  thought  him- 


172  NANNIE    BATES. 

self  very  foolish  to  have  proposed  such  a  thing,  and  he 
went  from  his  breakfast  and  settled  himself  in  his  chair  by 
his  center-table,  with  a  self-gratulation  that  he  had  n't  got  to 
move  after  all.  As  for  Mrs.  Kinalden,  she  could  scarcely 
forgive  herself  for  incurring  the  risk  of  losing  one  of  her 
best  and  most  permanent  boarders,  and  her  night  had  been 
spent  in  bitter  self-reproaches  and  regrets.  The  morning, 
however,  compensated  for  the  night  of  grief,  when  she  felt 
that  Mr.  Bond — good  soul ! — overlooked  it  all,  and  was 
willing  to  stay.  "  It  stands  you  in  hand  to  mind  your 
tongue,  though,  Susan  Kinalden,"  soliloquized  she,  as  she 
wiped  the  last  dish  and  stood  it  up  end-wise  in  her  pantry. 
"  It  is  n't  the  first  time  you  Ve  come  nigh  biting  your  own 
head  off!" 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  COME  in,  Pat ;  mother  '11  be  glad  to  see  ye,"  said 
Nannie,  as  he  put  the  pail  softly  within  the  door,  and 
was  about  retreating. 

"  Faith  and  that  I  will,"  said  the  woman  warmly,  opening 
the  door  wide,  and  setting  a  chair  for  the  boy,  who  seemed 
nothing  loth  to  enter. 

It  was  pleasant  to  find  a  clean  spot  to  sit  down  in  after 
his  day's  labor,  and  the  happy  faces  in  that  room  had 
haunted  him  as  a  dream,  too  good  to  be  real,  since  he  had 
first  seen  Nannie  and  Winnie.  His  home  was  a  disagreea 
ble,  shabby  place,  and  his  mother  did  not  care  to  make  it 
otherwise,  and  Pat  felt  it  a  great  privilege  to  go  occasionally 
to  see  his  new  friends.  "  It  was  n't  for  nothing,"  thought  he, 
"  that  I  did  the  good  deed  by  the  girl ;  it 's  many  a  pleas 
ant  hour  I  Ve  had  here  since  that  blessed  night !"  and  he 
drew  his  chair  up  to  the  table  where  Nannie  had  the  big 
Bible  open  reading  aloud  to  her  mother. 

"  I  '11  keep  right  on  here  where  I  was  reading,  Pat,"  said 
she,  "  because  it 's  so  beautiful,"  and  she  finished  the  de 
scription  of  the  new  Jerusalem  in  the  Revelation  of  St. 
John. 


174  NANNIE    BATES. 

"  That  is  n't  for  such  as  me,  Nannie — is  it  ?"  asked  the 
poor  boy,  who  had  sat  with  his  chin  in  his  hand  listening 
intently  while  the  child  was  reading. 

"  Oh !  yes,"  answered  Nannie ;  "  you  should  hear  Mr. 
Bond  talk  about  it,  Pat.  I  could  n't  believe  that  any  of  us 
would  ever  live  in  such  a  beautiful  place ;  but  he  says  'tis 
just  as  we  have  a  mind ;  that  if  we  are  good  in  this  world, 
and  do  every  thing  that  we  know  to  be  right,  and  try  to 
keep  from  what  we  feel  is  wrong,  and  love  God,  we  shall 
go  there  when  we  die  ;  and  I  'm  sure  it  is  worth  trying  for 
— is  n't  it,  Pat  ?"  and  Nannie  closed  the  Book,  and  placed 
it  reverently  upon  the  stand  in  the  corner. 

Her  mother  had  been  busy  getting  the  supper,  but  she 
heard  the  words  of  the  blessed  volume,  and  wiped  away  a 
tear  with  the  corner  of  her  apron  as  she  thought  of  him 
who  could  have  no  part  in  that  glorious  city.  But  she 
must  n't  let  the  children  see  her  weep,  so  she  put  away  her 
sorrow,  and  stirred  about,  talking  cheerfully  the  while,  and 
Pat  felt  that  there  was  no  place  in  the  world  like  that 
neat  cosey  attic,  and  that  Nannie  Bates's  lot  was  one  to 
be  envied  indeed. 

He  didn't  know  how  long  she  had  pined  in  the  damp 
and  dreary  cellar  with  nothing  bright  nor  pretty  near  her, 
aud  how  bitter  all  her  days  had  been  until  just  before  he 
had  befriended  her — after  Mr.  Bond  had  provided  her  new 
home — for  she  had  never  told  him  any  thing  of  the  past. 
Indeed  she  scarcely  ever  dwelt  upon  it  herself,  for  there  was 
so  much  gladness  for  her  now  that  she  forgot  all  about 


X  ANNIE     BATES.  175 

any  other  time,  and  so  her  cheeks  grew  round  and  ruddy, 
and  nobody  would  have  thought  her  the  same  child  that 

sat  upon  the  steps  of  the  great  house  in street  one 

sunny  day,  some  time  before,  with  a  pinched-looking  little 
baby  in  her  arms.  Pat  thought  her  the  prettiest  girl 
he  had  ever  seen,  and  she  fairly  worshiped  his  great  Irish 
face  and  the  yellow  hair  that  hung  straight  over  his  fore 
head.  Winnie,  too,  would  cling  to  him,  and  lay  her  little 
soft  cheek  to  his  red  coarse  face,  and  clasp  her  tiny 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  play  with  the  yellow  locks 
as  if  they  were  the  sunbeams  themselves ;  and  then  she 
would  jump  and  croAv  as  he  played  bo-peep  with  her, 
and  stretch  out  her  wee  hands  and  cry  as  he  turned 
away  and  went  tramping  down  the  stairs.  Pat  knew  how 
to  win  young  hearts — there  was  always  a  cake  of  ginger 
bread  in  his  pocket,  or  a  stick  of  candy  for  Winnie, 
or  a  new  rattle  or  something  for  Nannie,  and  both  learned 
to  watch  for  his  coming  with  glad  emotions. 

He  brought  a  rose-bush  and  a  petunia  for  Nannie, 
and  made  a  shelf  for  them  by  the  window,  and  the 
beauteous  buds  came  thick  and  fast,  shedding  out  their 
fragrance  in  the  sunny  room,  and  making  it  still  more 
delightful  to  Nannie.  She  would  sit  where  the  breeze 
wafted  the  pleasant  odor  to  her,  and,  closing  her  eyes, 
fancy  herself  in  Paradise,  and  she  would  watch  the  sun 
that  she  might  catch  every  one  of  its  warm  rays  for  her 
plants. 

She  had  never  dreamed  of  getting  so  high  up  in  the 


IfB  NAXXIE     BATES. 

world  as  to  have  real  flowers  blooming  in  their  own  room. 
She  thought  such  things  were  only  for  the  rich ;  but  she 
had  yet  to  learn  that  there  are  many  comforts  and  bless 
ings  that  all  may  freely  enjoy  if  they  have  only  the  taste 
and  disposition,  and  that  the  poorest  habitation  may, 
at  least,  be  made  to  bring  forth  the  precious  blossoms  of 
hope  and  joy  at  the  will  of  its  inmates. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  OH  !  there  's  the  poor  girl  with  the  baby,  that  lives 
in  the  cellar,  Biddy  !"  said  little  May  Minturn,  a  few  weeks 
after  she  had  given  her  the  blanket.  "  See  how  fat  the 
baby 's  grown !"  and  the  child  ran  after  Nannie,  who  was 
walking  at  a  quick  pace  to  avoid  her,  for  she  would  gladly 
have  hidden  from  her  the  fate  of  her  gift ;  but  May  was 
not  to  be  shunned,  and  she  pulled  at  Nannie's  shawl  as  she 
came  up  with  her,  and  said,  "  Don't  carry  the  baby  away, 
I  want  to  see  her.  Oh  !  she  looks  more  like  my  sissy  now, 
for  she 's  got  a  little  pink  in  her  cheeks ;  but  what  have 
you  done  with  the  blanket  ?  this  is  n't  half  so  prettr 
as  the  one  I  gave  you,"  and  she  looked  inquiringly  at 
Nannie,  who  had  seated  herself  upon  some  steps  to  rest^ 
and  pulled  aside  the  flannel  that  enveloped  the  babe,  thus 
exposing  its  naked  feet 

"  Don't  be  offended,  miss,  and  I  '11  tell  you  what  became 
of  it,"  said  Nannie ;  "  before  Winnie  had  time  to  wear  it 
once,  some  one  took  it  from  her  and  sold  it.  I  sorrowed 
for  it  a  great  deal,  but  that  would  n't  bring  it  back,  and 
now  Winnie  must  wear  this  one ;  't  will  keep  her  warm, 

but  I  know  it  is  n't  pretty." 

8* 


178  NANNIE    BATES. 

"  Are  not  you  afraid  in  that  dark  room  ?"  asked  May, 
sitting  down  on  the  step  beside  the  girl,  and  taking  hold 
of  the  baby's  hand. 

"  Oh !  we  don't  live  there  now,"  said  Nannie,  in  a 
gleeful  tone.  "  We  have  a  beautiful  home  way  up  close 
by  heaven !"  and  she  gazed  up  into  the  sky  and  felt  how 
much  further  off  she  then  was  than  in  her  new  home. 

"  May  I  go  there  to  see  you  ?"  said  the  little  girl,  "  and 
will  you  go  with  me  to  heaven  to  see  my  brother  a  little 
while  ?  Mamma  says  he 's  there,  and  I  'd  like  so  much  to 
play  with  him !" 

"  But  we  can  not  go  there  till  we  die,"  replied  Nannie. 
"  I  look  up  from  my  window  sometimes  until  I  think  I  see 
the  angels,  and  then  I  almost  want  to  fly  right  away  to 
them ;  but  Mr.  Bond  says  God  will  take  us  when  he  wants 
us,  and  that  it  is  wicked  to  be  impatient." 

"  Did  you  see  my  Georgie  up  there  ?"  asked  May,  draw 
ing  closer  to  Nannie,  and  looking  still  more  earnestly  at 
her.  "He  had  on  a  white  frock,  with  a  satin  ribbon  around 
his  waist,  and  he  had  curls  just  like  mine  and  sissy's.  If 
you  say  Georgie,  Georgie,  perhaps  he  '11  answer  you  as  he 
used  to  mamma.  Don't  you  think  God  will  take  us  pretty 
soon  ?"  continued  she,  patting  the  baby's  head,  and  leaning 
over  to  kiss  its  brow,  "  I  'm  all  ready  to  go,  and  Georgie 
wants  me,  too." 

"  Shure,  and  the  child  '11  be  an  angel  before  long,  I  'm 
thinking !"  said  Biddy,  as  May  arose  and  took  her  hand  to 


NANNIE    BATE*.  179 

go  home  ;  the  misthress  would  be  greeting  sair  if  she  heard 
all  her  little  prattle." 

Nannie  gazed  after  the  wee  figure  as  it  went  up  the 
street  beside  the  nurse,  and  then  she  looked  at  the  baby 
that  was  nestling  its  tiny  head  upon  her  bosom,  and  she 
felt  that  there  was  a  sort  of  mysterious  link  between 
Winnie  and  the  sweet  child  whose  kiss  was  fresh  upon 
her  forehead.  The  feeling  made  her  shudder,  and  she 
hugged  her  little  sister  closer  to  her  breast,  as  she  thought, 

"  Mayhap  both  may  soon  be  wanted  above !" 

Home  did  not  look  so  bright  to  her  that  evening. 
Something  seemed  to  be  threatening  evil,  and  she  sat 
listless  and  abstracted,  when  her  mother  came  home,  look 
ing  from  the  window.  She  did  not  even  see  her  mother, 
until  she  put  a  hand  upon  each  of  her  shoulders  and  asked 
her  "  if  she  was  napping  ?" 

"  Oh !  no,  mother,  I  'm  not  dozing,  and  I  'm  not  ill ;  but 
there 's  something  coming  to  Winnie,  I  know  there  is.  It 
is  n't  long  that  she  '11  brighten"  the  house !"  said  Nannie, 
trembling  with  emotion. 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  child,"  said  her  mother,  after  she  had 
ascertained  that  her  precious  babe  was  sleeping  sweetly  in 
its  cradle,  "Winnie's  growing  stout  and  healthy,  and  it's 
thankful  we  should  be,  instead  of  fretting  for  fear  there  '11 
be  sorrow  to  come." 

Nannie  shook  her  head  mournfully,  and  took  her  knit 
ting  from  the  table,  but  her  heart  was  more  busy  with 
its  sad  reflections  than  were  her  fingers  with  the  young 


180  NANNIE    BATES. 

babe's  sock.  She  did  not  even  notice  Pat  much  that 
evening ;  but  merely  took  the  great  apple  that  he  handed 
her  with  a  quiet  "  thank  ye ;"  and  then  relapsed  into  her 
silent  and  thoughtful  mood. 

Pat  would  not  stay  to  sit  down,  for  Nannie  had  not 
seconded  her  mother's  invitation,  and  the  disappointed  boy 
only  lingered  to  take  one  peep  under  the  curtain  of  the 
cradle  of  Winnie,  and  then  went  home  to  his  abode  with 
a  downcast  mien,  and  a  slow  gait. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MR.  BOND  had  not  been  to  see  them  for  a  great  while, 
and  the  cold  weather  was  coming,  and  there  were  hard 
times  in  store  for  them,  if  they  did  not  manage  to  get  some 
sewing,  or  something  to  do.  It  was  the  first  of  November, 
and  the  breeze  was  no  longer  soft  and  bland,  as  it  came 
from  the  blue  waters  upward  into  the  little  room,  but  it 
was  fresh  and  chilly,  and  had  a  mournful  tone,  and  Nannie 
got  cotton  and  stuffed  the  windows  tight  to  keep  it  out. 
There  was  but  little  fuel  in  the  house,  and  scarcely  any 
money  for  their  next  quarter's  rent,  and  Mrs.  Flin  had  been 
up  a  day  or  two  before  to  warn  them  that  they  must  leave 
if  the  funds  were  not  ready  by  a  certain  time.  Mrs.  Bates 
had  fallen  down  stairs  by  means  of  one  of  Master  Sammy's 
round  pebbles,  and  lamed  herself,  so  that  she  was  no  longer 
able  to  trudge  about  with  her  basket,  and  where  she  had 
applied  for  sewing,  they  told  her  there  were  more  appli 
cants  than  work,  and  so  she  did  not  know  what  to  do. 

"  To-morrow's  rent-day,  Nannie,"  said  she  with  a  sigh, 
"  and  I  have*  but  a  dollar  put  by  toward  the  twelve.  I 
shall  have  to  send  you  round  to  see  Mr.  Bond,  child,  and 
it 's  me  that 's  ashamed  to  do  that  afther  all  he 's  done  for 


182  XANNIE     BATES. 

us ;  but  it  can 't  be  helped !  It 's  unfortunate  we  've  been 
the  last  month,  and  shure  he  '11  not  be  blaming  the  Provi 
dence  as  brought  it  to  us  !" 

So  Nannie  put  on  her  old  hood  and  cloak,  and  went 
timidly  up  to  Mrs.  Kinalden's  door.  The  old  lady's  aspect 
was  rather  forbidding,  as  she  answered  the  bell,  and  found 
only  a  beggar  child  had  summoned  her  from  her  dinner- 
pot,  and  she  was  about  to  slam  the  door  in  her  face,  when 
Nannie  said, 

"  It 's  Mr.  Bond  I  'm  wanting  to  see,  ma  'am,  if  you 
please." 

Mrs.  Kinalden  would  have  been  glad  to  send  the  child 
away ;  but  she  remembered  the  past,  and  dared  not  ven 
ture  ;  so  she  told  her  to  be  sure  and  wipe  her  feet  clean, 
and  then  she  ushered  her  up  stairs  to  the  bachelor's- 
room.  Nannie  knocked  softly,  and  as  she  heard  a  faint 
voice  say  "  Come  in,"  she  opened  the  door  and  entered. 
One  glance  revealed  it  all.  Mr.  Bond  had  been  sick — very 
ill — and  she  had  never  once  been  to  inquire  about  him. 
He  sat  propped  up  in  his  easy-chair,  with  a  flowered  dress 
ing-gown  about  him,  and  his  head  against  a  pillow,  and 
there  was  a  warm  fire  in  the  fire-place,  and  bowls  standing 
about  with  bread-water,  and  gruel,  and  arrow-root  in  them 
— and  labeled  vials  were  upon  the  table,  so  that  she  felt  he 
had  really  been  in  some  danger.  Besides,  his  face  was  thin 
and  pale  and  wrinkled,  and  she  would  scarcely  have  recog 
nized  him  as  the  fat  jolly  old  man  who  used  to  have  hardly 
a  lap  for  little  "Winnie  to  perch  upon. 


NANNIE     BATES.  183 

"  Oh !  it 's  you,  Nannie,  is  it  ?"  said  he,  with  the  same 
pleasant  tone  as  of  old,  and  with  one  of  his  broad,  beam 
ing  smiles  that  played  over  his  hollow  cheeks  mockingly. 
"  Did  n't  coine  to  see  your  old  friend  all  these  three  weeks, 
and  he  too  ill  to  get  off  from  his  bed.  He  would  n't  have 
served  you  so,  Nannie,  that  he  would  n't !"  and  he  looked 
half  reproachfully,  half  jestingly  at  the  serious  face  of  the 
young  girl. 

"  And  we  were  all  the  time  wondering  if  ye  'd  deserted 
us,  sir,"  said  Nannie,  as  she  stood  by  the  table  twisting  her 
apron  over  her  finger ;  "  and  never  a  word  of  your  ill 
ness  did  we  hear,  or  the  days  would  not  have  slipped  away 
and  we  not  have  been  to  ye!  Maybe  ye  were  needing 
somebody  to  nurse  ye,  and  ye  lying  alone  here  with 
no  hand  to  give  the  medicines?"  and  she  looked  inquir 
ingly  at  him. 

"  Mrs.  Kinalden  has  been  as  attentive  as  she  could  be 
with  her  cares,  Nannie,"  replied  the  patient  old  man ; 
"but  the  pillows  would  have  lain  a  little  easier  if  -a  little 
girl  that  I  know  of  had  come  in  sometimes  to  shake  them 
up  for  me,  and  perhaps  the  bed  would  have  been  softer 
for  making  over  once  in  a  while."  How  quickly  the  old 
hood  and  cloak  went  off,  and  the  nimble  hands  shook  and 
beat  the  sick  man's  bed  until  it  was  as  plump  as  a  par 
tridge — and  she  put  on  the  clothes  so  smoothly  that  there 
was  not  a  wrinkle  in  them ;  then  she  arranged  the  glasses 
and  vials  nicely  upon  the  table,  and  washed  the  spoons, 
and  warmed  him  some  gruel,  and  she  read  a  psalm  to  him, 


184  NANNIE    BATES. 

and  then  donned  her  things  again  to  go ;  but  she  had  n't 
said  a  word  about  the  need  at  home,  and  perhaps  she 
would  not  have  remembered  it  until  she  had  returned 
to  her  mother  had  not  Mr.  Bond  said,  "Nannie,  how 
are  you  getting  along  now  ?  Let 's  see,  to-morrow 's  rent- 
day,  is  n't  it  ?  and  hard  times,  too.  Hand  me  the  wallet 
out  of  that  desk  there,  child,  I  must  see  you  through  this 
cold  weather,"  and  he  counted  out  twelve  dollars  and  tied 
them  in  a  corner  of  her  handkerchief.  "  So  your  mother 's 
not  able  to  go  out  any  more,"  said  he,  as  Nannie  told  him 
of  the  trouble  "  Well,  we  '11  see  what  can  be  done  ;  you 
must  n't  suffer,  d'ye  hear  ?  and  mind  you  come  every  day 
to  make  my  bed  while  I  'm  sick,  't  will  save  Mrs.  Kinalden 
some  work — and  I  guess  't  will  suit  me  better,"  added  he, 
as  he  glanced  at  the  inviting-looking  nest  that  had  not 
before  shown  its  proper  proportions  since  his  illness, 
"  Here,  take  this  orange  to  Winnie,"  said  he,  as  the  child 
moved  toward  the  door ;  "  I  '11  be  round  there  in  a  few 
days,"  and  he  looked  brighter  than  he  did  a  half  hour 
before.  "I  wonder  what  there  is  in  a  child's  presence 
to  make  things  so  sunny,"  thought  Mr.  Bond,  as  the  young 
girl  left  the  room.  "  Her  little  hands  seem  to  have  glossed 
over  every  thing  they  touched,  and  the  gruel  had  a  relish 
that  that  old  woman  could  never  give." 

It  was  willing  hands  that  made  the  difference,  good  Mr. 
Bond.  A  sick  bed's  a  hard  place  for  one  who  has  no 
kind  and  voluntary  attention.  Call  in  experienced  nurses 
and  skillful  physicians — pay  them  more  than  the  half  of 


NANNIE    BATES.  185 

your  substance — send  out  for  all  the  luxuries  a  diseased 
palate  may  crave — it  won't  do,  Mr.  Bond,  it  won't  do ; 
there  needs  a  loving  heart  to  anticipate  all  your  wants,  and 
a  tender  hand  to  bathe  the  fevered  brow  and  smooth  the 
uneasy  pillow,  and  a  low  sweet  voice  to  whisper  soothing 
words  in  your  ear;  then  it's  a  sort  of  pleasure  to  lie 
so  languid  and  careless,  and  watch  the  gliding  motions 
of  your  quiet  nurse,  and  feel  that  you  are  getting  on 
so  comfortably. 

Mr.  Bond  did  n't  need  to  be  told  all  this ;  he  felt  it, 
as  day  after  day,  during  his  convalescence,  the  little  feet 
came  tripping  up  the  stairs,  and  the  child's  glad  hands 
ministered  unto  him  ;  and,  after  she  had  made  all  tidy  and 
had  gone  out  and  closed  the  door  softly  behind  her, 
he  would  lie  gazing  at  the  youthful  features  of  the  bonnie 
lassie  upon  the  wall,  and  wonder  how  many  more  times  he 
should  be  so  near  her,  and  yet  not  be  permitted  to  go. 
"  Must  n't  be  impatient,"  that 's  what  you  told  Nannie, 
isn't  it,  Mr.  Bond?  there 's  a  great  deal  for  you  to  accom 
plish  yet  in  your  master's  vineyard  before  the  reward 
comes ;  the  walls  are  broken  down  all  about,  and  there 's 
many  a  tender  vine  exposed  to  the  wild  boar  and  the 
beasts  of  the  field,  and  it  is  for  you  to  help  repair  the 
breaches  before  you  go  hence  to  rest  from  your  labors. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

PAT  had  not  seen  his  old  friends  for  many  days,  for 
Nannie  was  a  good  deal  out  with  the  basket  now  her 
mother  was  confined  to  the  house,  and,  somehow,  her  man 
ner  toward  him  the  last  time  he  was  there  made  him  feel 
shy,  as  if  he  was  not  wanted  there  any  more.  Still  the 
pail  was  filled  as  usual,  and  stood  beside  the  door,  with 
many  a  nice  and  pretty  thing  for  the  baby.  Mrs.  Bates 
wondered  why  she  never  heard  him  come  up  the  stairs 
now,  and  if  he  had  got  tired  of  playing  with  Winnie,  and 
if  his  own  home  had  grown  more  pleasant.  She  did  n't 
know  how  often  he  had  put  his  ear  to  the  key-hole  to  see 
if  he  could  hear  one  of  baby's  gleesome  laughs,  or  the 
sound  of  Nannie's  voice  reading  aloud,  or  talking  to  her 
mother.  Nannie  caught  him  this  time,  though,  as  she 
returned  from  her  labors,  and  the  boy's  face  grew  redder 
still,  as  if  he  had  been  detected  in  some  mean  act,  but  her 
good-natured  smile  reassured  him,  and  he  found  his  tongue. 

"  It 's  listening  for  Winnie  I  am,"  said  he,  "  and  I  've  not 
seen  her  swate  face  the  week." 

"  But,  Pat,  why  have  n't  you  been  here  this  long  time  ?" 
asked  Nannie,  opening  the  door  and  leading  him  in  as  if  he 
were  a  child. 


NAXNIE     BATES.  18Y 

Pat  felt  that  she  would  think  him  very  foolish  if  he  told 
her  the  reason  of  his  absence,  so  he  kept  silent,  but  he  was 
happier  than  he  had  been  for  many  a  day,  as  he  sat  in  his 
old  seat  with  Winnie  snuggled  close  to  his  breast.  Win 
nie  reciprocated  the  delight,  but  her  demonstrations  were 
very  violent ;  she  slapped  Pat's  face  with  her  rosy  palms, 
and  pulled  his  hair,  and  bit  his  fingers  with  her  aching 
teeth,  forgetting  the  while  the  painful  gums  that  had  made 
her  so  wearisome  all  the  day. 

Nannie  was  uncommonly  cheerful,  for  all  was  right  now, 
and  Mr.  Bond  was  well  enough  to  visit  them  on  the  mor 
row,  and  Pat  was  back  again,  and  they  were  to  remain  in 
the  pleasant  attic  for  another  quarter  at  least,  and  mother 
had  some  work  that  promised  a  good  profit,  so  there  was 
no  pressing  want  upon  them  just  now.  Mr.  Bond  had 
sent  some  shirts  to  be  made  against  the  summer.  He  did 
not  like  the  common  way  of  bestowing  charity.  He 
always  required  an  equivalent  for  what  he  handed  out. 
He  would  not  have  Nannie  grow  up  with  the  feeling  that 
she  was  a  beggar,  so  he  found  something  to  be  done,  and 
paid  good  round  prices  for  the  work.  Mrs.  Bates  stitched 
so  busily,  thinking  he  needed  the  garments  all  the  while. 
She  did  n't  quite  understand  Mr.  Bond,  though !  It  did  n't 
matter  to  him  if  there  were  piles  on  piles  of  pure  white 
linen  in  his  great  trunks.  What  if  somebody  did  get  the 
good  of  them  after  his  death  !  he  did  not  care  to  take  his 
worldly  treasure  with  him,  but  was  quite  willing  to  leave  a 
goodly  portion  for  the  benefit  of  others ;  besides,  many  a 


188  NANNlE    BATES. 

worthy  man  owed  his  prim  Sunday  suit  to  those  same 
heaped-up  chests,  and  it  would  have  done  you  good  to  see 
the  broad  ruffles  bedecking  the  sons  of  Erin  as  they  es 
corted  their  sweethearts  to  vespers.  They  would  cross 
themselves,  and  murmur  a  prayer  for  the  "  masther,"  here 
tic  though  he  was,  and  they  knew  they  would  get  him  out 
of  Purgatory,  if  masses  and  penances  would  avail.  As  for 
Nannie  and  her  mother,  it  was  dangerous  to  say  a  word 
against  their  benefactor  in  their  presence.  Nobody  had 
ever  dared  the  thing  excepting  Mrs.  Flin,  and  she  would 
not  encounter  such  a  belaboring  of  tongues  again  for  all 
the  bachelors  in  the  world.  Pat,  too,  was  his  most  en 
thusiastic  admirer,  for  he  had  encouraged  his  going  to 
spend  his  evenings  in  the  neat  attic  rather  than  crawl 
to  his  own  miserable  abode  to  be  contaminated  with  the 
fumes  of  rum  and  tobacco,  and  the  scurrilous  example  of 
his  abandoned  parents. 

It  was  a  wonder  to  the  good  man  that  there  could  be  a 
spark  of  virtue  in  the  boy's  character,  and  that  he  had 
been  so  far  preserved  from  the  taint  of  his  vile  home  as  to 
care  for  the  purity  of  his  gentle  neighbor's.  He  did  not 
remember  how  beautiful  the  contrast  must  be  to  Pat  as  he 
came  from  his  mother's  den  of  infamy,  where  rags  and  dirt 
prevailed,  to  the  neat  and  cleanly  dwelling,  and  the  pure, 
bright,  happy  faces  of  Mrs.  Bates  and  her  two  children. 

It  wasn't  his  fault  that  the  woman  who  had  dared 
to  take  upon  herself  the  sacred  name  of  mother,  had 
spurned  the  terrible  responsibility  consequent  upon  that 


NANNIE     BATES.  189 

assumption,  and  cast  her  children  from  her  bosom  out  into 
the  wicked  world,  with  never  a  care,  nor  a  blessing,  nor  a 
prayer ;  it  was  n't  his  fault  that  his  infant  soul  had  been 
even  more  pitiably  neglected  than  the  uncared-for  body; 
it  wasn  't  his  fault  that  the  little  hands  were  taught  to  fight 
and  steal  rather  than  lift  themselves  up  toward  a  gracious 
father  to  invoke  His  love  and  blessing,  or  that  the  words 
of  blasphemy  were  frequent  on  the  lips  that  were  made  for 
prayer  and  praise.  He  could  think  of  a  time  when  his 
childish  knees  had  bent  before  the  good  God,  of  whom 
a  kind  friend  had  told  him,  and  his  own  mother — who 
should  have  been  prostrate  beside  him  in  penitence  for  her 
sins  both  against  him  and  her  Maker — shouted  her  ribald 
songs  even  in  his  unwilling  ears.  No  wonder  Mr.  Bond 
thought  it  strange  that  Pat  had  any  yearning  left  for  the 
good  and  the  exalted.  But  his  heart  did  heave  mightily 
beneath  the  mass  of  corruption  that  his  own  parents  had 
heaped  above  it,  and  he  felt  it  gradually  loosening,  so  that 
the  Sun  of  righteousness  gleamed  upon  it,  though  dimly. 
It  was  something  to  have  even  that  faint  light  to  show 
him  the  loathsomeness  of  his  condition,  and  it  helped  him 
wonderfully  in  his  efforts  to  cast  the  burden  wholly  from 
him.  It  was  no  mystery  to  him  that  "  Christian"  felt  such 
a  relief  when  it  was  quite  gone,  and  that  he  hastened 
onward  toward  the  end  of  his  journey  with  a  light  and  free 
step.  It  was  not  for  nothing  that  the  poor  boy  helped 
Nannie  Bates  »in  the  hour  of  her  need,  the  blessing  was 
coming,  life  was  just  beginning  for  him. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

IT  was  a  bitter  cold  day,  and  the  winds  whistled  through 
the  cordage  of  the  shipping  and  came  moaning  up,  beat 
ing  against  the  corked  windows ;  but  it  was  of  no  use 
they  could  not  get  in,  for  Nannie  had  stuffed  the  cotton  in 
all  the  cracks  as  tight  as  she  could,  so  that  there  was  not 
even  a  crevice  left,  and  they  had  to  go  whirling  back  again 
to  play  their  old  tricks  among  the  rigging  of  the  vessels. 
Oh  !  it  was  so  pleasant  to  watch  the  dark  waves  as  they 
tossed  and  foamed,  while  the  boats  bounded  buoyantly  over 
them.  Nannie  did  not  care  for  the  frost,  nor  for  the  fresh 
chill  breeze,  for  the  stove  was  red  with  warmth,  and  she 
had  not  to  go  out  that  day.  Mr.  Bond  was  coming,  and 
she  had  a  holiday.  Now  and  then  her  face  grew  a  little 
long  as  she  thought  "  perhaps  it  might  be  too  cold  for  him 
to  venture  out ;"  but  it  was  round  and  cheery  again  as  the 
sound  of  his  well-known  step  was  upon  the  stairs. 

"  Heigh-ho,  here !"  said  he,  as  little  Winnie  crept  toward 
him  and  clasped  her  tiny  arms  around  his  leg ;  "  has  n't 
forgotten  its  old  friend,  has  it  ?"  and  he  lifted  the  child  up, 
seating  it  upon  his  shoulder  as  he  moved  toward  a  rocking- 
chair.  "  Not  quite  well,  yet,  ma'am,"  replied  he  to  Mrs. 


NANXIK     BATES.  191 

Bates'  inquiry  after  the  state  of  his  health.  "  This  north 
wester  's  rather  too  strong  for  me  now ;"  and  he  panted, 
and  put  Winnie  down  while  he  took  off  his  mufflers. 
"  Had  to  wrap  up  well  this  cold  day,  you  see,  but  could  n't 
disappoint  these  little  folks  ;"  and  he  patted  Winnie's  head 
and  re-instated  her  upon  his  knee.  She  did  not  keep 
slipping  off  as  she  used  to  do  before  Mr.  Bond's  illness,  but 
had  a  very  comfortable  seat  now,  and  her  hands  remem 
bered  the  full  pockets  they  had  so  often  rifled,  and  went 
rummaging  about  to  see  if  the  times  were  unchanged. 

The  goodies  came  tumbling  all  about  the  floor,  and  the 
old  man  was  as  merry  as  the  children  who  scrambled  after 
the  sugar-plums — Winnie  cramming  her  little  mouth  until 
they  tumbled  out  again  for  want  of  room.  "  How  do  the 
shirts  get  on,  my  good  woman  ?"  said  Mr.  Bond,  as  he 
watched  the  needles  flying  through  the  snowy  cloth. 

"  I  '11  have  'em  for  ye  before  long,  sir,"  replied  Mrs. 
Bates,  hastening  her  stitches  as  fast  as  she  could ;  "  I  'd 
spare  the  time  from  my  sleep  rather  than  ye  should 
be  wanting  them,  sir." 

"  Oh !  never  mind,  never  mind,"  said  the  kind  man ; 
"  I  'm  not  in  any  great  need,  only  there  's  plenty  more 
work  when  that 's  done.  Where 's  Pat,  Nannie  ?"  con 
tinued  he,  addressing  the  girl  who  was  minding  Winnie  ; 
"  does  he  come  often  to  see  you,  and  do  you  read  to  him, 
too  ?" 

"He'll  be  here  the  day  to  see  ye,  sir,"  answered 
Nannie,  with  a  joyous  expression ;  "  we  Ve  got  most 


192  NANNIE     BATES. 

through  the  Progress,  and  we  read  in  the  Bible,  too,  every 
day,  and  Pat 's  as  good  a  boy  now  as  ye  'd  wish  to  see." 

"  He  's  got  a  sad  home,  Nannie,"  said  Mr.  Bond,  "  and 
his  father  and  mother  '11  pull  him  down  again  if  they  can, 
but  we  must  help  him  to  stand  upright.  I  depend  upon 
you,  Nannie,"  and  he  looked  at  her  as  if  he  thought  there 
was  great  might  in  her  aid. 

"It's  little  I  can  do,  sir,  save  the  reading,"  said  she, 
looking  slightly  grave,  as  if  too  much  was  expected  of 
her. 

"  But  you  can  keep  him  from  bad  associates,"  replied 
her  benefactor,  "  and  the  half  is  done  then.  He  loves  this 
quiet  place,  and  you  can  make  it  pleasant  to  him  here, 
so  that  he  will  see  how  much  happier  it  is  to  live  peacefully 
and  Christianlike  than  to  be  carousing  and  drinking  as  they 
do  in  his  own  home.  Poor  Pat!"  continued  he,  gazing 
thoughtfully  into  the  fire,  "  it 's  been  a  sad  life  to  him,  but 
the  good  is  to  come." 

Nannie  thought  it  had  been  a  sad  life  to  them  all  until 
Mr.  Bond  found  them  out,  but  she  felt  that  the  future 
would  be  bright  enough  if  they  might  see  his  kind  face 
once  in  awhile,  and  she  did  not  trouble  herself  with  the 
past  now,  that  was  all  over,  and  the  days  were  as  merry  as 
merry  could  be.  To  be  sure  her  basket  was  heavy,  and  her 
feet  weaiy  almost  every  day,  but  what  cared  she  for  that 
so  long  as  she  could  come  to  so  glad  a  home,  and  have  only 
kind  words  and  loving  faces  about  her.  Mr.  Bond  did  not 
worry  much  about  Pat  after  he  saw  his  frank  face  peering 


NANNIE     BATES.  193 

in  at  the  door.    "  Come  in,  Pat,"  said  he,  as  the  lad  shuffled 
forward  to  greet  him.     "  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  my  boy !" 

"It 's  much  changed  ye  are  with  the  sickness,"  said  Pat; 
"  but  ye  're  the  same  in  your  heart,  I  '11  ever  believe." 

Pat  was  greatly  changed,  too,  his  friend  could  plainly 
see  that  as  he  scanned  the  boy's  features.  He  had  grown 
so  manly,  and  seemed  to  feel  such  a  self-respect — not  a 
bold,  disagreeable  assurance,  but  a  sort  of  rough,  unassum 
ing  dignity  that  was  both  pleasant  and  becoming.  He  did 
not  sit  down  with  his  hat  on,  and  his  chair  tilted  backward, 
and  chatter  and  jabber  as  if  he  were  of  quite  as  much  im 
portance  as  his  benefactor,  but  stood  respectfully,  with 
uncovered  head,  and  answered  Mr.  Bond's  questions  mod 
estly  and  politely,  and  waited  to  be  asked  before  he  made 
himself  at  home  in  the  presence  of  his  superior. 

A  very  pleasant  time  they  all  had  in  the  nice  attic,  and 
they  dwelt  upon  it  for  many  days  afterward  with  a  peculiar 
pleasure.  It  was  not  often  that  Mr.  Bond  could  come  to 
see  them  now,  for  he  was  not  as  strong  as  before  his  illness, 
and  the  snow  came  early  to  keep  him  in  also,  and  Nannie 
consoled  herself  by  enumerating  his  virtues  to  Pat,  who 
quite  agreed  with  her  that  "  he  was  fit  to  be  a  saint." 

9 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

You  need  not  step  softly  to-night,  Pat,  though  the  baby 
is  sleeping.  She  will  not  hear  your  heavy  boots,  tramp  they 
never  so  loudly  up  the  stairs.  Never  mind  the  doll  you 
have  in  your  hand  for  her — her  eyes  will  not  open  to  look 
upon  it.  •  Lift  the  latch  quietly,  though,  for  there  is  grief  in 
the  room,  and  noise  comes  harshly  and  gratingly  upon  a 
sorrowing  ear.  Nannie  can  not  look  up  to  gre'et  you, 
neither  can  her  mother  welcome  you  now,  though  your 
silent  presence  may  be  grateful  to  them  both.  Winnie 
does  not  spring  up  in  her  cradle,  with  her  merry  laugh, 
and  stretch  out  her  little  hands  toward  you.  She  will  not 
twine  her  wee  fingers  in  your  yellow  locks  any  more,  nor 
try  to  pick  the  big  moles  off  your  hard  hands.  She  is 
lying  very  still  upon  her  soft  pillow.  Her  nicest  white 
dress  is  smoothed  down  on  her  tiny  form,  and  her  hair  is 
parted  upon  a  marble  brow.  There  's  a  little  coffin  on  the 
table,  and  you  know  who  is  to  occupy  it ;  but  it  is  too  sud 
den,  too  dreadful  for  you  to  realize  at  once  !  Do  not  try  to 
take  her  up,  nor  warm  the  cold  cheek  against  your  own 
burning  face.  The  blood  is  quite  chilled  in  the  blue  veins, 
and  the  limbs  fall  passively  down.  There  's  a  bud  from 


NANNIE     BATES.  195 

Nannie's  bush  in  one  hand,  but  she  does  not  hold  it  first  to 
your  nostrils  and  then  to  her  own,  with  her  cunning  little 
ways,  as  she  used  to  do.  Do  not  ask  them  how  it  all  hap 
pened;  how  can  they  tell  you,  and  their  hearts  almost 
breaking  ?  They  did  not  even  hear  the  angel's  wings  as  he 
came  to  bear  away  the  sweet  babe.  All  they  knew  was, 
that  there  was  a  convulsive  movement  of  the  little  limbs, 
and  then  they  were  rigid  forever. 

There 's  a  terrible  gloom  all  about,  and  it  oppresses  them 
with  its  strange  weight ;  but  they  hardly  know  that  the 
baby  is  gone  from  them.  Is  she  not  there  in  the  cradle,  as 
she  is  every  day  at  this  hour,  and  are  they  not  all  very 
quiet  for  fear  of  disturbing  her  ?  Or,  are  they  all  dream 
ing,  and  is  a  horrible  nightmare  upon  them,  from  which 
they  vainly  strive  to  arouse  themselves  ?  Pat  can  not  see 
Nannie  so  listless,  and  so  white,  with  the  vacant  stare,  and 
not  speak  to  her ;  so  he  goes  round  by  the  side  of  the 
cradle  where  she  is,  and  hands  her  the  doll.  "  It 's  for 
Winnie,"  said  he,  and  the  big  drops  fell  from  his  full  eyes 
upon  her  hand.  There  's  great  power  in  sympathy,  and 
Nannie  can  weep  now ;  so  can  the  mother,  and  there  comes 
a  sort  of  peace  over  the  group,  that  was  not  there  before. 
Nannie  gets  up  and  gathers  all  the  little  playthings  to 
gether  and  puts  them  away  with  the  doll ;  but  it  is  too 
much !  it  gives  the  place  such  a  forlorn  aspect ;  and  she 
takes  them  out  again  and  scatters  them,  as  if  it  would 
bring  Winnie  back,  too.  The  night  is  very  sad,  and  so  is 
the  morrow ;  and  the  next  day  Mr.  Bond  comes  with  a 


196  NANNIE    BATES. 

minister.  Winnie  is  lifted  into  the  narrow  coffin,  and  a 
fresh  bud  graces  her  breast.  Mr.  Bond  stands  a  long  time 
gazing  upon  her  white,  white  brow,  and  he  fancies  he  sees 
'a  hallowed  impress  there,  as  of  a  Divine  hand.  He  can 
not  help  his  strong  emotion.  Wasn't  Winnie  getting 
deeper  and  deeper  down  into  his  heart  every  day,  and  can 
he  see  the  little  head  that  lay  so  often  upon  his  bosom, 
covered  with  the  cold  earth !  The  minister  thinks  her 
very  lovely,  as  she  lies  there  so  free  from  spot  of  sin,  and 
he  almost  Avonders  they  can  weep  over  her  early  release 
from  a  world  of  effort,  and  toil,  and  care ;  but  he  knows 
what  a  struggle  it  is  to  give  up  a  parent's  richest  posses 
sions,  for  there  are  little  ones^that  used  to  call  him  father, 
now  lying  beneath  the  snow,  and  he  weeps  with  the 
afflicted,  as  he  reads  the  burial-service  over  their  darling. 

There  needs  but  one  carriage  for  the  mother  and  Nannie, 
and  Mr.  Bond,  and  Pat ;  and  the  little  coffin  is  placed  on  a 
deat  in  the  middle.  They  can  not  leave  it  until  it  is  hidden 
from  their  sight. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  NANNIE  must  go  to  school,"  said  Mr.  Bond  to  himself 
the  day  after  the  child's  burial.  "  It  won't  do  for  her  to 
stay  there  moping  and  pining  after  little  Winnie !  The 
baby's  gone,  and  it  won't  bring  her  back  again." 

And  so  it  was  settled  that  she  was  to  begin  the  next 
Monday.  Mr.  Bond  thought  it  better  that  she  should  go 
to  the  parish  school  immediately  in  her  vicinity,  and  con 
nected  with  the  church  which  he  attended — not  that  he 
wished  to  free  himself  from  the  slight  tax  demanded  by 
private  teachers,  for  many  a  comfortable  donation  ten 
times  the  worth  of  so  small  a  pittance,  found  its  way  into 
the  parish  treasury  from  his  liberal  purse.  Oh  !  no,  that 
was  n't  Mr.  Bond's  reason.  He  knew  that  the  child  would 
be  under  a  good  and  religious  influence  there,  for  besides 
being  well  taught,  she  would  be  daily  gathered  with  the 
rest  of  the  liltle  lambs  into  the  consecrated  chapel,  and  be 
made  to  feel  that  her  moral  culture  was  of  still  greater  im 
portance  than  the  mental.  Besides  he  liked  to  know  that 
she  was  under  the  eye  of  some  good  shepherd  who  would 
lead  her  safely  on  to  the  great  and  ever  green  pasture. 


198  NANNIE     BATES. 

It  would  be  so  pleasant  to  him,  too,  to  see  the  object  of  his 
benevolence  and  care  Sunday  after  Sunday,  pattering  up  the 
broad  aisle  to  her  seat,  and  joining  in  the  solemn  and  beau 
tiful  worship.  He  didn't  believe  she  had  ever  been  to 
church  in  her  life ;  he  ought  to  have  inquired  into  that 
before.  Poor  Mr.  Bond !  here  was  another  subject  for 
penitence.  So  much  as  he  thought  of  such  privileges  and 
blessings  for  himself,  too !  He  was  afraid  he  was  not  fit 
for  such  a  responsibility  as  the  one  he  had  assumed ! 
Well,  the  minister  would  help  him  ;  that  was  a  comforting 
thought. 

Nannie  was  delighted  at  the  idea  of  studying.  She  had 
a  quick  and  inquisitive  mind,  and  she  looked  at  the  little 
parcel  of  books  that  her  good  friend  brought  her  with  a 
glad  eye,  and  when  Monday  came  she  took  her  satchel, 
and  long  before  the  hour,  was  on  her  way  to  school,  with  a 
quick  step  and  a  buoyant  expression. 

There  was  no  task  in  getting  her  off  to  her  books,  as 
there  is  in  many  a  case  where  advantages  come  more 
lavishly.  She  felt  that  the  blessing  was  too  great  to  be 
sufficiently  estimated.  Her  teacher  long  ago  had  told  her 
that  whatever  of  knowledge  was  gained  in  this  world  would 
not  be  lost,  but  that  if  rightly  applied,  it  would  make  her 
spirit  brighter,  and  fit  it  for  a  continually  increasing  and 
glorious  expansion  in  the  life  to  come ;  and  she  had  wisdom 
enough  to  know  that  every  intellectual  acquirement  was 
adding  to  the  talent  intrusted  to  her,  and  thus  honoring 
the  gracious  Giver.  So  she  determined  to  strive  earnestly 


NANNIE     BATES.  199 

to  improve  her  new  privileges,  and  thus  repay  her  benefac 
tor  as  well  as  adorn  her  own  mind. 

The  morning  was  very  beautiful  as  she  tripped  along  in 
the  pure  snow.  The  flakes  had  fallen  thick  and  fast  the 
day  before,  and  now  lay  in  feathery  heaps  all  over  the 
trees  and  fences  and  trellises,  and  there  was  but  just  a 
narrow  path  for  her  feet  to  tread  upon.  Men  and  boys 
were  all  about  with  their  shovels,  busily  working,  and  the 
pure  mass  was  tossed  quickly  from  the  walks.  Snow-balls 
were  flying  at  the  peoples'  heads,  and  many  parties  were 
already  moving  briskly  over  the  smooth  surface,  and  the 
bells  were  jingling  gayly,  and  there  was  a  healthful  glow 
.upon  every  body's  face. 

Nannie  could  n't  feel  very  joyous,  for  she  thought  of  the 
little  form  that  lay  so  still  and  breathless  under  the  tiny 
mound ;  but  the  scene  before  her  inspired  her  with  cheer 
fulness,  and  she  trudged  on  trying  to  be  happy  with  the 
rest.  She  was  just  before  May  Minturn's  door — she  could 
not  forget  the  house — had  n't  she  sat  on  those  steps  with 
dear  Winnie,  and  had  n't  little  May  spoken  kindly  to 
her,  and  kissed  baby,  too  ?  It  recalled  her  sister  to  her 
so  vividly  that  the  tears  would  not  be  stayed,  and  she 
let  them  flow.  Just  then  the  door  opened,  causing  her  to 
look  up ;  there  was  a  black  crape  tied  to  the  bell,  with  a 
white  ribbon,  and  she  knew  that  either  May,  or  the  little 
sissy  that  she  used  so  often  to  speak  of,  was  dead. 

"Is  that  for  May,"  asked  she,  as  -Biddy  spoke  softly 
to  her  from  the  top  step ;  and  she  pointed  to  the  funeral 


200  NANNIE     BATES. 

emblems  that  were  floating  in  the  wintry  breeze.  "  And 
may  I  see  her,  Biddy  ?" 

"  Shure,  and  that  ye  may,"  said  Biddy,  "  and  it 's  "Winnie 
she  was  calh'ng  the  day  she  died,  jist  before  the  life  left  her 
swate  body ;  and  how  is  the  babby  ?"  asked  she,  as  Nannie 
followed  her  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  She 's  gone  where  May  is,"  replied  the  sister,  suppress 
ing  her  sobs  as  far  as  she  was  able  ;  "  I  knew  they  'd  be 
wanted  there !"  and  she  stopped  for  the  nurse  to  admit  a 
little  more  light  into  the  darkened  room. 

How  beautiful  little  May  was  in  her  quiet  repose !  She 
lay  upon  the  sofa  with  her  soft  curls  falling  over  the  calm 
forehead,  and  flowers  covered  the  pillow,  and  her  hands 
were  folded  upon  her  gentle  breast  as  if  they  had  done  all 
their  little  work  on  earth. 

Mrs.  Minturn  had  seen  Nannie  enter  the  room,  and  she 
knew  her  as  the  child  May  had  so  often  spoken  about,  and 
she  went  softly  in  where  they  were  and  stood  beside 
the  sofa,  so  pale  and  calm  in  her  sorrow  that  Nannie  was 
almost  frightened.  She  noticed  Nannie  as  she  kissed  the 
still  sleeper,  and  smoothed  down  the  silken  hair  lovingly, 
and  she  severed  one  beautiful  lock  and  laid  it  in  the  poor 
girl's  hand.  Biddy  had  told  her  mistress  of  Winnie,  and 
she  had  felt  that  the  two  children  were  as  sisters  in  that 
Spirit  land,  and  so  she  spared  the  precious  curl.  Oh  !  how 
Nannie  treasured  it.  It  seemed  such  a  sacred  thing  to  her 
to  possess  something  that  the  finger  of  death  had  hal 
lowed,  and  when  she  went  home  she  folded  it  in  a  soft 


NANNIE     BATES.  201 

paper  and  put  it  within  the  cover  of  the  big  Bible,  and 
often  she  drew  it  reverently  forth,  in  after  years,  as  she 
dwelt  upon  the  two  seraphs  whose  forms  she  could  dis 
tinguish  amid  the  angel  band. 

9* 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MRS.  BATES  sat  alone  in  the  quiet  room,  sewing  all  the 
day,  while  Nannie  was  at  school.  It  was  so  very  still  that 
it  was  oppressive  to  her.  Winnie's  cradle  occupied  the 
same  spot  as  when  the  babe  was  in  it — she  could  not  put 
it  out  of  sight ;  and  the  little  garments  hung  about  the 
room  on  the  pegs  in  the  corners.  The  wintry  sun  came 
faintly  in  and  shone  upon  the  pillow  of  the  tiny  bed,  and 
the  mother,  ever  and  anon,  cast  her  tearful  glances  to  the 
spot  that  was  consecrated  by  the  sweetest  of  memories.  A 
rag-baby,  that  had  shared  Winnie's  affections  as  well  as  her 
pillow,  still  lay  within  the  sheets,  as  the  child's  hands  had 
often  placed  it.  The  tin  cup  and  spoon  were  upon  the 
mantle,  and  the  playthings  were  gathered  into  an  old  wil 
low  basket,  their  wonted  receptacle  when  Winnie  was  there 
to  use  them.  How  often  had  she  pulled  them,  one  by  one, 
from  their  resting-plaee,  and  then  restored  them  with  an 
untiring  interest,  only  needing  occasionally  an  encouraging 
glance  from  mother  to  keep  her  contented  by  the  hour 
together !  It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Bates  as  if  she  must  still 
look  up  from  her  needle  to  give  the  child  some  frequent 
sign  of  her  care  and  love,  but  as  her  eye  fell  upon  the  va- 


NANNIE     BATES.  203 

cant  space,  it  was  almost  too  much  for  the  overcharged 
heart,  and  it  required  all  her  energies  to  master  her  grief 
sufficiently  to  keep  about  her  accustomed  duties. 

The  poor  have  little  leisure  to  nurse  their  sorrows  :  there 
was  Nannie  left  to  toil  for,  and  it  was  unfitting  her  for  her 
necessary  labors  to  give  vent  to  the  rising  anguish,  there 
fore  she  choked  back  the  bitter  sighs  and  tears,  and  plied 
her  needle  diligently,  trying  to  think  only  of  the  mercies 
left  her.  She  had  still  plenty  of  work.  It  was  wonderful 
how  many  friends  Mr.  Bond  had  who  could  supply  her 
with  employment.  There  were  little  dresses,  and  pinafores, 
and  numerous  other  small  articles  of  clothing,  always  ready 
for  her.  She  did  not  know  how  many  a  needy  household 
owed  its  replenishing  to  this  same  stock  of  ready-made 
clothing  which  good  Mr.  Bond  kept  constantly  on  hand. 
He  did  not  wait  to  see  whether  such  and  such  a  thing 
would  be  needed  before  he  had  it  made,  but  wherever  he 
found  a  ragged  child  he  sent  a  suit  from  his  well-stocked 
wardrobe,  and  an  abundant  blessing  flowed  back  upon  him, 
repaying  him  an  hundredfold  for  clothing  the  naked  and 
destitute. 

Mrs.  Kinalden  once  in  awhile  caught  sight  of  the  min 
iature  suits  through  the  brown  paper  envelops  that, 
somehow,  got  torn  on  their  way  to  the  batchelor's  room, 
and  her  indignation  knew  no  bounds. 

"  It 's  a  shame  and  a  disgrace,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  that 
he  should  tarnish  my  house  with  such  things,  and  then 
have  the  boldness  to  look  me  in  the  face  !"  But  luckily 


204  NANNIE    BATES. 

for  her,  she  only  said  it  to  herself,  and  Mr.  Bond,  conscious 
of  his  own  integrity,  kept  on  his  even  way,  scattering 
blessings  wherever  he  went,  and  never  imagining  that  his 
very  Christian  deeds  were  the  occasion  of  many  an  unjust 
query  on  the  part  of  his  curious  and  suspicious  landlady. 

She,  poor  soul !  fumed  and  fretted  inwardly  until  the 
gloss  and  shine  were  quite  gone  from  her  widowed  cheeks, 
leaving  them  really  sallow  and  wrinkled.  There  's  nothing 
like  a  contented,  happy  disposition,  Mrs.  Kinalde^n,  to  pre 
serve  one's  youth  and  beauty.  You  need  not  brush  up 
your  fading  charms  before  your  tell-tale  mirror,  and  try  to 
restore  your  lost  luster  by  artificial  means ;  it  won't  effect 
any  thing.  The  fact  is,  the  trouble  is  internal.  You  must 
cleanse  first  the  inner  man  of  the  heart,  and  you  will  be 
surprised  at  the  reflection  of  your  own  face  then,  it  will 
change  into  such  a  mysterious  winsomeness !  Never  mind 
Mr.  Bond's  actions — they  can  not  lie  at  your  door,  but  take 
care  that  your  own  are  as  free  from  taint  as  your  inexpli 
cable  neighbor's.  It  is  not  for  you  to  see  the  hidden 
motives  that  govern  those  about  you;  the  best  way  for 
you  is  to  think  favorably  of  every  body,  and  you  have  no 
idea  how  much  peace  and  comfort  it  will  bring  to  your 
own  soul. 

Mrs.  Bates  had  never  dreamed  of  questioning  her  bene 
factor's  deeds,  they  shoAved  their  uprightness  upon  the  very 
face  of  them,  and  she  had  no  fellowship  with  her  gossiping 
neighbors,  to  whose  flings  she  could  not  always  be  deaf. 
Mrs.  Flin  began  to  be  more  social,  much  to  her  regret,  for 


NANNIE    BATES.  205 

she  had  little  sympathy  with  her  loquacious  guest.  What 
was  it  to  her  if  the  Airly's  did  keep  a  span,  and  drive  out 
every  day  ?  she  was  willing  Mrs.  Flin's  friends  should  ac 
cumulate  riches,  and  enjoy  them,  too,  if  she  did  live  in  an 
humble  attic,  and  stitch  from  morn  till  night  for  her  daily 
bread.  What  if  Mrs.  Airly  had  a  new  silk,  spring  and 
fall,  and  was  getting  in  with  such  good  society  ?  It  did 
not  make  her  a  whit  the  less  thankful  for  her  scanty  yet 
neat  wardrobe,  nor  for  the  few  friends  it  was  her  fortune  to 
possess.  She  did  n't  mind  if  Master  Sammy  was  to  go  to 
a  select  school !  She  had  all  confidence  in  Mr.  Bond's 
judgment  concerning  Nannie,  and  rejoiced  that  she  could 
feel  so  easy  as  to  the  child's  moral  culture.  She  did  n't 
care  for  Mrs.  Flin's  foolish  prattle  about  her  great  acquaint 
ances,  and  her  own  future  anticipations  of  a  higher  station. 
It  was  not  half  of  it  that  she  heard ;  but  if  one  sly  innu 
endo  was  sent  at  the  good  man  to  whom  she  was  so  much 
indebted,  there  was  a  determined  look  that  cowed  the  slan 
derous  tongue  before  it  could  speak  out  its  full  meaning. 
Oh  !  what  a  relief  was  it  to  the  poor  widow  to  see  the  last 
of  Mrs.  Flin's  bombazine  gown  floating  out  the  door,  and 
to  be  sure  that  she  was  free  from  a  repetition  of  the  annoy 
ance  of  her  company,  for  the  day  at  least. 

The  thought  of  her  angel  child,  and  the  solitude  of  her 
quiet  home  accorded  better  with  her  sad  and  contemplative 
mood,  than  the  foolish  clatter  of  her  simple  neighbor's 
gossiping  member,  and  right  glad  was  she  that  her  ac 
quaintance  extended  no  further  than  to  her  kind  benefac 
tor,  and  to  the  noble  and  honest  Pat. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  OH  !  mother,"  said  Nannie,  throwing  her  hood  upon 
the  table  and  brushing  the  hair  off  from  her  flushed  fore 
head,  "  school 's  so  nice !  Miss  Coit  's  one*  of  the  dearest 
ladies ;  and  she  says  I  '11  be  one  of  her  best  scholars  if  I 
keep  on  as  I  've  begun ;  and  we  have  such  beautiful  sing 
ing,  and  Christmas  is  'most  here,  and  then  we  are  to  have 
a  tree  hung  all  over  with  presents  for  the  children ! 
Won't  it  be  grand,  mother  ?"  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  her 
mother's  arm  to  force  her  to  stop  working  and  attend  to 
her. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bates,  "it's  glad  I  am  for  ye, 
Nannie ;  but  what 's  that  in  your  hand,  child  f"  taking  the 
paper  and  looking  upon  the  little  curl  within. 

"  Oh  !  mother,"  replied  Nannie  in  a  sad  tone,  "  it 's  May 
Minturn's,  she  that  loved  our  baby,  and  she  's  gone  where 
Winnie  is ;  and  her  mother 's  such  a  pale  sweet  lady  !  She 
gave  me  this,  because  she  said  May  and  Winnie  are  as  sis 
ters  up  in  heaven." 

That  was  such  a  pleasant  thought  to  Mrs.  Bates.  She 
was  too  sensible  a  woman  to  wish  to  do  away  with  the  dis 
tinctions  which  are  productive  of  much  good  in  this  life, 


NANNIE     BATES.  207 

but  it  was  a  happiness  to  feel  that  in  the  other  world,  the 
good  and  pure  could  all  mingle  as  brethren ;  that  despoiled 
of  the  external  marks  of  roughness  which  make  so  much 
difference  here,  the  spirit  could  appear  in  its  real  loveliness 
so  that  it  would  be  neither  loathsome  nor  repulsive.  She 
did  not  expect  those  who  were  fitted  by  the  advantages  of 
education  and  refinement  for  a  high  position  in  life,  to 
stoop  to  an  equality  with  those  whose  more  humble 
stations  were  wisely  allotted  them.  She  appreciated  their 
self-denial  and  kindness  in  seeking  out  the  lowly  ones,  and 
aiding  them  in  their  efforts  to  struggle  upward,  and  no 
taint  of  envy  or  hatred  toward  those  whom  God  had 
chosen  to  place  above  her  in  this  world,  ever  found  its  way 
to  her  heart.  So  with  a  meek  and  contented  mind  she 
pursued  her  quiet  way,  never  murmuring  because  of  bless 
ings  withheld,  but  grateful  for  the  unmerited  favors  so 
richly  heaped  upon  her.  She  had  a  great  deal  to  be 
thankful  for !  Nannie  was  in  a  good  way,  and  Pat  was 
just  like  a  son  to  her,  doing  her  errands,  and  helping  her 
about  the  wood  and  water  as  if  she  were  his  own  mother. 
He  had  come  to  board  with  them  now,  for  it  had  grown  so 
bad  in  his  own  home,  and  he  had  vainly  tried  to  make  it 
better — so  he  left  them  altogether,  and  Mrs.  Bates  had  a 
rough  couch  constructed,  and  she  covered  it  with  neat 
print ;  and  there  in  the  outer  room  Pat  slept.  He  was  up 
betimes  in  the  morning,  and  had  the  fire  made  and  the 
kettle  on  to  boil,  and  then  he  heard  Nannie  study,  while 
her  mother  got  the  breakfast  ready ;  and  by  this  means  he 


208  NANNIE    BATES. 

acquired  the  same  knowledge  himself,  for  Pat  was  ready  to 
learn,  if  he  had  been  kept  down  all  his  life  with  no  culture 
nor  teaching. 

His  board  helped  them,  and  their  kindness  and  affec 
tion  helped  him  more  than  he  had  ever  been  aided  since 
his  birth,  for  he  came  to  think  he  was  of  some  consequence 
to  somebody,  and  this  makes  a  wondrous  difference  to  a 
person.  It  made  Pat  particular  in  his  manners  and  neat 
in  his  dress,  and  it  brought  a  peculiar  joy  to  his  heart  to 
know  that  the  house  was  a  gainer  by  his  coming  to  it. 
Mr.  Bond  had  got  him  a  situation  as  porter  in  the  establish 
ment  of  one  of  his  mercantile  friends,  and  his  employer 
thought  every  thing  of  the  diligent  and  honest  lad,  and 
gave  him  good  wages,  so  that  he  had  a  trifle  to  lay  up, 
besides  providing  his  board  and  clothing,  and  getting  an 
occasional  present  for  Mrs.  Bates  or  Nannie.  It  was  alto 
gether  a  very  thrifty  household  now,  and  Mr.  Bond  felt  no 
uneasiness  about  going  awhile  to  leave  them. 

He  had  had  a  lingering  cough  ever  since  his  illness, 
and  the  doctor  ordered  change  of  air  and  a  warmer 
climate,  and  so  he  must  go.  It  was  very  hard  to  leave 
his  snug  room,  and  to  turn  away  from  the  silent  face  that 
was  ever  looking  upon  him,  and  it  cost  him  many  a 
serious  pang  to  give  up  the  care  of  his  favorite  puss  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  Mrs.  Kinalden ;  but  it  would  be  wrong 
to  tamper  with  his  health,  and  he  must  crush  all  regrets 
and  disinclinations,  and  perhaps  he  might  return  sooner 
than  even  his  physician  had  hoped.  He  waited  but  one 


NANNIE     BATES.  209 

moment — after  the  carriage  came  to  bear  him  to  the  boat 
bound  for  Cuba — to  take  his  farewell  of  the  objects  of  his 
deepest  regard,  and  then  went  more  gravely  down  stairs 
than  was  his  wont. 

Mrs.  Kinaklen  felt  a  sort  of  sorrow  as  she  closed  the 
blinds  of  his  room,  making  all  dark,  and  then  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock,  while  puss  preceded  her  to  her  own 
sitting-room,  and  she  bestowed  sundry  endearing  epithets 
upon  the  animal,  even  patting  her  back  in  a  friendly  sort 
of  way  as  she  stooped  to  smooth  the  rug  for  her  to 
lie  upon.  It  was  something  to  miss  the  step  that  for  years 
had  been  heard  in  the  house,  and  to  see  the  place  that  he 
had  so  longed  filled  at  table  occupied  by  another. 

Mrs.  Kinalden  had  a  heart  after  all,  so  you  would  have 
thought  had  you  seen  how  often  the  silk  handkerchief  was 
applied  to  her  eyes  in  the  course  of  that  day. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

CHRISTMAS  came  and  went,  and  there  were  merry  times 
in  the  parish  school,  and  in  Nannie's  home,  too.  Her 
stocking  was  filled  to  overflowing  by  her  mother  and  Pat, 
and  there  was  a  nice  present  from  her  kind  teacher,  too; 
but  they  did  not  have  the  tree  until  Epiphany,  for 
that  the  minister  said  "  was  the  Gentile  Christmas,  and  he 
thought  the  good  things  and  presents  upon  the  tree 
would  help  the  children  to  remember  the  great  and 
glorious  gifts  that  the  Saviour's  birth  and  manifestation 
brought  to  them  all." 

The  little  things  could  scarcely  sit  still  during  service  in 
the  church,  but  kept  turning  and  twisting  upon  their  seats 
and  looking  toward  the  chapel  where  the  tree  was.  At 
last  the  moment  came  when  they  were  to  walk  in  pro 
cession  around  it,  so  as  to  have  a  good  view  of  its  beauty 
and  promise  before  the  articles  were  distributed. 

The  minister  headed  the  procession  with  the  parish 
children,  and  Nannie  felt  her  importance  materially  in 
creased  as  he  took  her  hand  and  moved  down  the  aisle. 
She  had  never  seen  any  thing  so  pretty  as  the  brilliant 
scene  that  had  met  her  gaze  when  the  doors  were  thrown 


NANNIE    BATES.  211 

open,  and  the  illuminated  star  and  bush  appeared  to 
her  delighted  gaze.  "  Oh !"  thought  she,  "  the  parish 
school 's  the  school  for  me ;"  and  she  gave  little  Sammy 
Flin,  who  had  come  in  out  of  curiosity,  an  exultant  glance 
as  she  passed  the  pew  where  he  was  perched  up  to  get 
sight  of  what  was  going  on  about  him.  "  She  did  n't 
believe  they  had  such  times  any  where  else,  or  that  the 
minister  led  them  along  before  so  many  people,  just  as  if 
they  were  his  own  children."  She  could  not  see  how  he 
yearned  for  them  in  his  heart,  feeling  a  greater  anxiety  and 
care  for  them,  than  he  did  for  his  own  offspring  that  had 
never  been  so  much  exposed  to  the  temptations  and  snares 
of  the  world.  All  she  felt  about  it  was  that  she  was  a 
poor  little  child,  weak  and  ignorant,  and  that  he  was 
a  priest  of  the  great  God,  and  taught  the  people  from  the 
blessed  Book,  and  that  it  was  a  great  honor  for  her 
to  stand  by  his  side  when  so  many  other  children  would 
covet  the  place.  When  Nannie  Bates'  name  was  called  he 
handed  her  her  presents — a  nice  pair  of  warm  mittens,  and 
a  new  hood,  and  a  book,  besides  a  turkey  for  her  mother; 
and  he  spoke  to  her  of  the  little  dead  Winnie  whose  body 
he  had  committed  to  the  earth,  and  told  her  to  be  gentle 
and  good  that  she  might  some  time  go  to  her ;  and  Nannie 
went  home  happier  than  ever,  and  filled  up  the  evening 
pleasantly  with  the  glowing  description  of  the  day's 
pleasure.  Pat  sat  with  his  ears  distended,  and  his  arms 
upon  the  table,  leaning  over  toward  her  as  she  talked, 
and  Mrs.  Bates  almost  forgot  the  light  that  had  so  lately 


212  NANNIE     BATES. 

been  extinguished  in  her  dwelling  as  the  bright  face  before 
her  shone  out  in  the  pleasant  room. 

It  needed  only  one  more  interested  one  to  complete  the 
little  circle,  but  he  was  bounding  over  the  waves,  and  no 
desire  could  recall  him  until  the  appointed  time.  He  had 
now  been  gone  one  week,  and  they  could  not  hope  to  see 
him  until  the  opening  of  the  summer,  so  they  contented 
theaiselves  with  the  enumeration  of  his  goodness  to  them 
all,  and  with  a  fervent  prayer  for  his  safe  return.  The 
moon  gleamed  upon  the  bay  as  Mrs.  Bates  and  Nannie 
looked  from  their  windows  upon  the  sparkling  waves,  and 
they  almost  fancied  they  could  descry  afar  off  the  beaming 
face  of  their  kind  friend  ;  but  he  lay  heart-sick  and  home 
sick  in  the  birth  of  the  tossing  ship,  thinking  of  his  cosey 
room,  and  of  the  attic  where  so  many  pleasant  moments 
had  been  spent,  and  wondering  if  Nannie  and  Pat  would 
come  to  no  harm  while  he  was  away. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  winter  was  well-nigh  gone,  and  it  had  brought  but 
little  trouble  to  Mrs.  Bates  and  her  small  family  until  now ; 
just  as  the  new  quarter  commenced  she  was  short  of  funds. 
Pat  was  confined  to  the  house  with  rheumatism,  and  his 
wages  had  stopped,  and  of  course  that  stopped  the  board- 
money,  for  what  he  had  saved  went  for  the  doctor  and  the 
medicines,  and  so  Nannie  had  to  leave  school  and  take  to 
the  basket  again.  It  was  a  pity,  for  she  was  making  such 
rapid  progress  in  her  studies,  and  would  soon  be  promoted, 
but  there  was  no  help  for  it,  the  pantry  was  quite  empty 
of  stores,  and  it  could  not  be  replenished  without  means. 
Mrs.  Flin  was  urgent  for  the  rent,  too,  and  threatened  to 
let  the  rooms  to  more  prompt  tenants.  She  forgot  that 
she  had  never  been  put  off  before,  and  that  good  Mr.  Bond 
would  be  sure  to  make  up  all  arrearages  on  his  return  from 
his  voyage. 

It  was  not  that  she  needed  the  money  at  all,  for  there 
was  plenty  of  silver  in  her  coffers,  but  she  loved  to  look  at 
the  shining  bits ;  and  it  did  not  matter  to  her  if  they  did 
cheat  some  hungry  one  out  of  the  necessary  morsel.  Her 
ambition  was  to  be  equal  with  the  Airly s  in  point  of  es- 


214  NANNIE    BATES. 

« 

tablishrnent,  therefore  she  toiled  on  to  lay  up  the  glittering 
heap,  and  every  little  while  she  sat  down  by  it  to  build  up 
imaginary  fabrics  of  splendor  and  show.  There  was  a 
house  to  let  near  her  friends,  with  the  same  external  marks 
of  gentility,  and  she  was  negotiating  for  it,  and  it  was  to 
be  furnished  as  nearly  like  her  neighbor's  as  possible,  and 
she  and  Sammy  were  to  emerge  from  the  lowly  obscurity 
that  had  so  long  shrouded  them,  into  the  magnificence  and 
grandeur  of  the  next  street.  It  was  for  this  important  step 
that  Mrs.  Bates  was  to  be  turned  out  into  the  chilly  air, 
with  the  sick  boy  and  the  fatherless  girl.  The  poor  woman 
would  not  have  stooped  to  entreat  for  permission  to  remain 
one  moment  were  it  not  for  the  danger  consequent  on  re 
moving  Pat  in  his  present  situation ;  but  her  pleadings 
availed  nothing  with  Mrs.  Flin  any  way,  and  so  they  went 
out,  with  the  weak  and  suffering  boy  hobbling  between 
them,  and  had  their  things  put  in  a  basement-room,  which 
they  called  home  again.  It  was  not  well  for  Pat  down 
there  in  the  cold  and  wet ;  and  they  missed  the  bright  sun, 
and  the  pure  air,  and  the  cheering  prospect,  and  alto 
gether,  what  with  the  physical  troubles  incident  to  their 
depression  of  spirits,  and  the  struggle  they  had  for  bread, 
they  were  getting  on  very  ill,  when  a  letter  reached  them 
from  Mr.  Bond. 

"  I  'm  coming  on  finely,  my  child,"  he  said — it  was  to 
Nannie — "  and  look  quite  like  Peter  Bond  again.  The 
sea-voyage  made  me  hearty,  and  a  good  appetite,  freely  in 
dulged,  plumped  me  up  to  my  usual  size,  so  that  you  would 


NAXNIE     BATES.  215 

scarcely  believe  me  the  same  man  who  left  you  two  months 
ago,  with  the  skeleton  limbs  losing  themselves  in  the  folds 
of  my  wide  garments.  Every  thing  is  so  new  and  strange 
to  me,  too,  that  I  have  plenty  of  amusement  in  watching 
my  neighbors  ;  and  I  often  forget  that  I  am  as  great  a  lion 
to  them,  until  I  meet  their  inquisitive  gaze. 

"  I  should  like  for  you  to  be  here  for  a  little  while  to 
get  some  of  the  delicious  fruits  that  are  so  common  and 
abundant,  and  to  see  the  negroes  working  among  the 
sugar-cane  and  tobacco.  I  can  not  tell  you  all  I  would 
like  to  in  a  letter,  but  we  shall  have  very  nice  times  when 
I  get  back  again,  talking  about  what  I  have  seen  and 
heard.  I  send  you  a  few  leaves  of  plants  which  I  picked 
while  walking  in  the  garden  of  the  Bishop's  palace.  They 
are  unlike  any  you  have  at  home,  and  I  know  your  fancy 
for  such  things.  I  want  very  much  to  hear  how  you  are 
getting  along ;  if  you  are  as  attentive  as  ever  to  your  les 
sons  and  school,  and  if  Pat  is  doing  well  in  the  store, 
and  if  the  attic  looks  just  as  it  used  to  ?  and  Nannie,  you 
must  go  to  Mrs.  Kinalden's  before  you  write  and  see  puss 
for  me ;  and  don't  suffer  for  any  thing,  d'  ye  hear  ?  I 
send  your  mother  a  little  money  to  help  her  along  while 
I  am  away,  for  fear  the  work  has  failed.  Shall  come  in 
June,  if  permitted.  Your  friend, 

"PETER  BOSTD." 

The  letter  brought  much  joy,  as  well  as  the  money 
that  could  reinstate  them  in  their  old  quarters  again  ;  but 


216  NANNIE     BATES. 

the  times  were  still  pinching,  and  poor  Nannie  almost  sunk 
down  in  the  pitiless  streets  sometimes  from  fatigue  and  ex 
haustion.  She  had  got  very  weary  one  day,  and  had  sold 
but  few  of  her  wares,  when  she  bethought  her  of  May 
Minturn's  mother,  and  wondered  if  she  would  buy  some 
thing  for  May's  sake ;  so  she  sought  the  house  and  went 
timidly  in  at  the  basement  door.  It  wasn't  Biddy  who 
opened  it  for  her,  but  a  strange  girl  who  told  her  they 
did  n't  want  any  thing ;  and  she  had  not  the  courage  to  ask 
for  the  mistress,  so  she  was  turning  sadly  and  despondingly 
away,  when  she  saw  the  pale  sweet  face  at  the  window  and 
the  white  hand  beckoning  her  to  come  up  the  front  steps, 
and  a  moment  after,  Mrs.  Minturn  herself  admitted  her 
into  the  hall. 

"  I  thought  you  were  at  school,  Nannie,"  said  she,  look 
ing  over  the  articles  in  the  basket,  and  selecting  a  goodly 
number,  "  and  that  you  no  longer  needed  to  go  out  in  the 
cold  and  tire  yourself  with  this  heavy  thing,"  and  she 
tried  to  lift  the  basket  which  her  delicate  arm  could 
scarcely  uphold.  "  I  'm  sorry  for  you,"  continued  she,  as 
Nannie  told  her  of  their  misfortunes,  "  but  come  in  here, 
I  have  something  to  propose  to  you ;"  and  she  led  the  way 
to  the  nursery  where  a  lovely  little  girl  of  ten  months  old 
was  amusing  herself  upon  the  floor  with  her  playthings. 
"  Would  you  like  to  come  and  live  with  me,  and  take  care 
of  Dora?"  asked  she,  as  Nannie  stooped  to  caress  the 
child,  "  I  need  Biddy  as  seamstress,  and  you  love  babies 
and  know  how  to  please  them,  do  you  not  2" 


NANNIE     BATES.  217 

Nannie  looked  earnestly  at  the  young  child,  and  as  she 
thought  of  Winnie,  it  almost  seemed  as  if  she  were  back 
again,  and  she  replied  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  Oh,  ma'am, 
it  would  be  so  much  better  than  that !"  pointing  to  the 
basket,  "  but  perhaps  I  would  n't  suit  you  even  if  mother 
will  let  me  come  !" 

"Never  mind  that,  Nannie,"  said  Mrs.  Minturn,  "you 
will  suit  if  you,  try,  I  am  sure  ;  and  I  will  give  you  more 
than  you  could  get  by  trudging  day  after  day  with  your 
small  wares  ;  so  run  home  and  ask  your  mother,  child,  and 
come  to  me  on  Monday,  if  you  can." 

"  I  would  like  it  indeed !"  thought  Nannie,  as  she  went 
homeward  with  a  light  step.  "  It  would  be  quite  like 
minding  dear  Winnie !" 

They  had  got  nicely  settled  again  in  the  attic,  and  Pat 
lay  upon  his  couch  making  shadows  on  the  wall  with  his 
well  arm  to  amuse  himself,  for  the  hours  lagged  heavily ; 
and  he  longed  to  be  tugging  at  the  great  bales  and  boxes 
again.  He  thought  it  would  do  well  enough  for  women  to 
be  ill  and  confined  to  the  house  week  after  week ;  but  he 
would  rather  work  ever  so  hard  than  to  be  hived  up  in 
one  particular  spot  so  long,  even  with  the  tender  nursing 
and  care  bestowed  upon  him.  It  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  he  needed  occasionally  such  a  convincing  remem 
brance  that  he  was  mortal,  which  he  perhaps  often  forgot 
in  his  accustomed  health  and  strength.  But  he  came  to 
think  of  its  object  after  awhile,  and  the  discipline  worked 
to  a  charm,  making  him  patient  and  gentle,  and  awaken- 
10 


218  NANNIE     BATES. 

ing  a  deeper  interest  in  tbe  home  where  there  is  no  more 
sickness,  so  that  when  he  felt  himself  growing  robust 
again,  he  looked  back  upon  the  trial  with  gratitude.  It 
took  a  great  while  though  to  regain  what  he  had  lost,  and 
he  had  to  sit  for  many  a  day  in  the  easy-chair  with  his 
swollen  feet  upon  a  pillow,  before  his  limbs  would  perform 
their  accustomed  office.  Oh !  how  glad  was  he  for  the 
power  of  locomotion,  as  his  halting  feet  moved  even  slowly 
over  the  floor ;  and  it  was  like  a  recreation  to  him  when 
he  could  walk  down  to  the  corner  with  the  aid  of  a 
crutch.  But  the  limbs  grew  flexible  at  last,  and  he  went 
bounding  off  to  his  labors,  thanking  God  that  He  had  not 
made  him  a  cripple.  The  poor  old  man  who  hobbles  about 
Broadway  upon  one  leg,  owed  many  a  penny  to  Pat's 
rheumatic  siege,  and  Pat  acknowledged  it  to  himself  as  he 
lifted  his  free  steps  and  took  the  way  to  the  store. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MRS.  BATES  was  very  lonely  after  Nannie  went  to  nurse 
Dora,  but  she  could  not  decline  so  good  an  offer,  and 
hardly  thought  of  herself  as  she  felt  what  a  nice  home  it 
would  make  for  the  child.  Mrs.  Minturn  permitted  Nan 
nie  to  go  often  to  see  her  mother,  for  she  felt  a  parent's 
sympathy  for  the  forlorn  woman  who  was  bereft  of  all  her 
children,  and  she  would  herself  go  and  sit  beside  Dora's 
little  crib,  when  the  babe  was  wakeful,  rather  than  deprive 
Nannie  of  her  visit  to  her  home.  She  knew  how  bitter  a 
thing  it  was  to  be  separated  from  the  little  ones  that  shed 
such  a  halo  over  the  house,  and  she  could  easily  spare 
the  girl  one  hour  an  evening  to  cheer  the  lonely  and 
widowed.  Dora  would  object,  and  cling  to  the  young 
nurse  that  she  had  so  soon  learned  to  love ;  but  the  clasp 
would  grow  weaker  and  weaker,  until  the  non-resisting 
form  could  be  placed  upon  the  bed,  and  Nannie  always 
hastened  back  before  there  was  any  real  need.  It  was  a 
happy  hour  for  her  mother  and  Pat — the  one  Nannie 
spent  with  them.  The  table  was  drawn  out  and  the  books 
were  upon  it,  and  the  low  voice  read  or  chatted,  and 
a  merry  ringing  laugh  wSs  often  heard  in  the  attic — and 


220  NANNIE    BATES. 

then  Pat  would  go  back  with  the  child  to  see  that  she  was 
safe,  and  woe  betide  the  boy  that  dared  an  insulting  word 
or  look. 

"  Was  n't  he  a  brave  lad,  though  ?"  said  Nannie,  as  she 
told  Biddy  about  the  water,  and  the  beating  Pat  gave  the 
impudent  troop  of  boys. 

Biddy  did  n't  dispute  it,  but  she  always  went  off  into 
some  rhapsody  about  a  "  bonnie  lad  she  had  left  in  ould 
Ireland,  jist  the  boy  that  would  be  afther  breaking  the 
heart  of  ye,  Nannie !" 

Nannie  had  not  reached  that  point  yet,  though,  and  was 
quite  as  contented  watching  the  sleeping  babe,  as  if  there 
were  no  such  trysting  places  as  sidewalks,  and  no  enamored 
boys  and  girls  talking  over  the  black  railings  about  an  Erin 
of  their  own  yet  to  be  established  in  the  new  country. 
She  knew  what  it  was  to  love  her  mother  and  the  dead 
child,  whose  memory  would  never  die  out  of  her  warm 
heart,  and  good  Mr.  Bond,  who  had  always  seemed  to  her 
so  far  above  all  other  mortals — and  Pat,  too,  who  was,  she 
thought,  the  impersonation  of  all  that  was  beautiful  and 
good ;  but  the  "  breaking  of  the  heart  of  ye"  was  a  dead 
language  to  her,  saving  when  it  referred  to  some  terrible 
affliction.  Don't  talk  to  Nannie  about  that,  yet,  Biddy. 
You  're  both  better  off  with  the  kind  mistress,  and  the  nice 
home,  and  the  warmth  and  comfort  all  about  you,  than 
you  would  be  with  a  close  room  and  crying  children,  and  a 
husband  who  could  n't  support  you.  It  is  n't  the  love  I  'm 
talking  against,  Oh  !  no — thank  heaven  for  that ;  but  wait 


NANNIE     BATES.  221 

until  you  can  see  the  prospect  clear  for  a  comfortable 
living  before  you  enter  into  a  compact  that  may  bring 
much  misery  -with  it,  and  don't  think  that  to  be  breaking 
your  hearts  after  the  boys  is  of  more  importance  than 
doing  your  duty  in  the  house  of  your  employers.  Nannie 
is  growing  to  be  quite  a  stout  girl,  and  perhaps  Pat  has  a 
faint  idea  that  she  will  make  him  a  good  wife  one  of  these 
days  ;  but  she  does  not  dream  of  it,  and  only  looks  upon 
him  as  Pat,  yet.  She  never  had  a  brother,  so  she  can  not 
estimate  her  regard  for  him  as  a  sister  would ;  indeed  she 
does  not  care  to  measure  it  any  way — why  should  she? 
the  time  has  not  come  for  this. 

Pat  looks  at  her  rosy  face  as  she  sits  across  the  table 
reading  to  them  evenings,  and  he  can  compare  it  to  noth 
ing  excepting  the  beautiful  waxen  figure  he  saw  at  some 
museum,  a  long  time  ago,  and  which  has  haunted  him  ever 
since.  He  paid  something  for  seeing  that,  but  this  is  a 
free  blessing,  which  comes  to  him  every  evening,  and  the 
thoughts  of  it  lightens  the  toil  through  the  day,  and  quick 
ens  the  step  homeward.  No  wonder  that  he  begins  to  feel 
that  he  must  some  day  make  sure  that  it  will  always  be  so, 
and  that  he  studies  over  it  after  the  light  is  out  and  the 
room  is  quiet,  as  he  lies  musing  upon  his  restless  couch. 
Does  n't  he  see"  that  she  is  prettier  and  prettier  every  day  ? 
and  does  n't  he  know  that  there  's  many  a  boy  that  would 
be  glad  to  call  her  "  wife ;"  and  is  n't  he  sure  there  '11  be 
bloody  times  if  any  of  them  attempt  to  take  her  from  him ! 
And  as  the  sleep  gets  a  faint  mastery  over  him,  and  he 


222  NANNIE    BATES. 

dreams  of  a  tussle  with  Mike  Dugan — all  on  Nannie's  ac 
count — the  brawny  arms  strike  outward,  and  the  doubled 
fists  come  with  such  force  against  the  innocent  plastering, 
as  to  bring  Mrs.  Bates's  nightcap  to  the  bedroom  door  to 
see  if  thieves  are  breaking  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MRS.  FLIN  has  got  into  her  new  home,  and  there  is 
quite  a  rejoicing  among  her  tenants.  There  is  no  fear  now 
from  Master  Sammy's  apple-skins  and  pebbles,  and  the 
landlady's  bombazine  dress  has  done  sweeping  its  ample 
folds  across  Mrs.  Bates'  floor.  You  don't  catch  Mrs.  Flin 
in  that  vile  street  any  more !  She  has  an  agent  now  to 
collect  her  rents  for  her,  and  she  does  not  even  recognize 
Nannie,  whom  she  meets  walking  with  little  Dora  in  her 
arms.  She  has  as  much  as  she  can  do  to  keep  an  account 
of  the  number  of  calls  Mrs.  Airly  has  in  the  course  of  a 
day,  and  to  ascertain  what  stylish-looking  young  lady  is 
visiting  there,  and  what  mustached  gentleman  it  is  who 
raises  his  eye-glass  so  gracefully  as  the  three  drive  past. 
Then  she  must  stroll  forth  every  morning  at  a  certain  hour, 
which  she  has  learned  is  etiquettical,  with  a  card-case  in 
her  hand,  for  that  is  the  way  Mrs.  Airly — who  has  not  wit 
enough  to  keep  her  own  counsel — told  her  she  took  to  give 
people  an  idea  that  she  was  greatly  sought  after.  Mrs. 
Flin's  time  is  wholly  occupied.  It  is  not  strange  that  she 
never  has  an  hour  to  spare  Mrs.  Bates  now.  Sammy  does 


224  NANNIE     BATES. 

not  exactly  understand  it  all,  and  wonders  why  she  pulls 
him  by  the  hand  as  they  pass  Nannie,  whispering  him  not 
to  stop  in  the  street  to  talk  with  that  girl,  when  she  used 
to  send  him  up  stairs  to  play  with  her,  as  often  as  she  could 
get  him  out  of  her  way,  when  they  lived  down  there. 

Captain  Flin  has  returned  from  sea,  and  he  scarcely 
knows  his  own  wife,  she  has  grown  so  grand.  He  does  not 
feel  at  home  in  the  new  place ;  and  while  she  walks  out 
with  the  card-case,  he  takes  his  pipe,  and  goes  down  to  sit 
on  Jerry  Doolan's  steps  and  smoke  with  him,  and  he  goes 
into  the  house  (Jerry  occupies  the  rooms  vacated  by  the 
ambitious  Mrs.  Flin),  and  sits  before  the  window,  with  his 
boots  in  the  seat  of  it,  wishing  it  was  his  home  still,  and 
that  these  women  would  n't  get  such  plaguy  notions  in 
their  heads ! 

Fie,  fie !  Captain  Flin,  will  you  let  the  weaker  vessel  go 
ahead  of  you  in  ambition  and  enterprise,  and  you  rest  con 
tent  with  such  humble  attainments !  Knock  the  ashes  out 
of  your  pipe,  man,  and  go  up  to  your  own  door  as  if  you 
had  always  belonged  there.  What  if  you  do  step  on  the 
carpets  as  if  they  were  eggs,  and  take  up  every  thing  as  if 
it  were  not  made  to  touch,  and  run  to  the  door  every  time 
you  hear  the  bell,  as  if  it  were  not  the  maid's  place. 
What  if  you  do  insist  upon  performing  your  ablutions  at 
the  kitchen  sink,  and  using  the  same  towel  with  the  serv 
ants,  and  help  yourself  of  the  edibles  'way  across  the 
table,  though  Sally  does  her  best  to  get  your  plate  so  as  to 
wait  upon  you?  Watch  your  wife,  Jerold  Flin.  Don't 


NANNIE    BATES.  225 

you  see  how  easy  this  gentility  sits  upon  her;  and  were  you 
not  born  and  bred  in  as  good  a  station  as  she  ?  You  scorn 
it  all,  do  you  ?  Notwithstanding,  I  '11  warrant  me  you  '11 
not  know  Jerry  Doolan  this  day  twelve  months  !  Mark 
my  words ! 

10* 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

NANNIE  's  gone  up  to  Mrs.  Kinalden's  to  get  some  mes 
sages  for  the  letter  to  Mr.  Bond.  What  has  happened  to 
the  old  lady  ?  She  has  grown  so  very  gracious,  and  places 
a  chair  for  Nannie,  and  offers  her  a  warm  doughnut  which 
she  has  just  fried,  and  then  she  sits  down  with  the  cat  on 
her  lap,  while  she  talks  to  the  girl  about  the  old  gentleman. 
There 's  a  good-natured  smile  upon  her  face,  and  somehow 
Nannie  forgets  how  old  and  disagreeable  she  thought  her 
when  she  used  to  come  to  see  the  sick  man  ;  and  puss  feels 
quite  at  home  on  the  kind  lap  that  no  longer  gives  her  a 
spiteful  toss  upon  the  hard  floor. 

There 's  something  come  over  Mrs.  Kinalden,  surely ! 
Perhaps  the  letters  that  occasionally  reach  her  from  the 
amiable  bachelor  have  something  contagious  in  them,  and 
may  be  they  awaken  in  her  mind  a  faint  hope  that  the  ad 
dress,  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Kinalden,"  may  mean  a  little  more 
than  appears  upon  the  surface.  He  says  "how  much 
he  misses  the  comfort  of  his  home !"  too,  and  "  what  de 
light  it  will  give  him  to  be  once  more  settled  in  his  quiet 
room  ;"  and  he  tells  her  to  "  take  good  care  of  puss  for  his 
sake ;"  and  is  n't  that  almost  equal  to  a  declaration  ?  The 


NANNIE     BATES.  227 

old  lady  often  draws  a  crumpled  paper  from  her  pocket, 
and  carefully  adjusting  her  spectacles  upon  her  nose,  goes 
over  the  manuscript  with  the  forefinger  of  her  right  hand, 
stopping  at  "  For  my  sake,"  ai*d  pondering  the  words  very 
seriously.  She  does  n't  know  how  it  would  do  to  change 
her  situation  at  her  time  of  life,  although  she  does  not  feel 
a  bit  older  than  when  she  was  married  to  Mr.  Kinalden  ! 
She  wonders  if  he,  poor  dear  man !  would  rise  from  his 
grave  if  she  should  ever  suffer  herself  to  be  called  Mrs. 
Bond !  He  used  to  say  that  he  should  not  lie  peacefully 
beneath  the  sod  if  she  were  to  drop  his  name  for  another. 
She  was  always  afraid  of  "  sperits,"  and  if  he  should  appear 
to  her  !  and  she  crumples  the  paper  up  again,  and  thrusts 
it  hastily  into  its  secret  receptacle,  and  chides  herself  for 
forgetting  for  one  moment  her  buried  lord,  for  the  night  is 
coming  on,  and  she  is  not  particularly  courageous  in  the 
dreamy  hours  of  darkness,  and  she  is  not  sure  but  Mr. 
Kinalden's  ghost  will  punish  her  for  thought  as  well  as  deed. 
Nannie  has  gone  a  long  time  ago.  She  only  staid  a 
moment  to  get  news  for  the  letter,  and  the  old  lady  was 
quite  alone  when  she  suffered  herself  to  embrace  so  im 
portant  a  subject  as  good  Mr.  Bond.  The  boarders  drop  in 
one  by  one  and  Mrs.  Kinalden's  thoughts  are  concentrated 
in  her  cups  and  saucers,  and  the  hot  tea  that  goes  steam 
ing  round  the  table,  and  the  query  whether  "  Mr.  Viets  is 
the  gentleman  who  takes  sugar  ?"  and  "  if  it  is  Mr.  Ballack 
that  does  n't  take  milk  ?"  and  "  which  of  the  gentlemen  it 
is  that  likes  both  suo;ar  and  milk  f '  and  "  which  that  takes 


228  NANNIE    BATES. 

neither?"  And  so  all  her  aspirations  after  the  Cuban 
bachelor  are  hushed  for  the  present,  amid  the  sober  reali 
ties  of  her  responsible  station.  It  is  not  very  remarkable 
that  she  sometimes  dreams  that  it  would  be  very  agreeable 
to  make  a  different  arrangement !  To  be  sure  her  boarders 
are  as  good  as  other  boarders ;  but  there  's  this  person 
does  not  like  beefsteak,  and  is  very  fond  of  mutton  chops, 
and  that  one  can  not  endure  mutton  chops,  but  delights 
in  beefsteak ;  and  fresh  pork  is  too  gross  for  such  a  one's 
appetite,  and  veal  cutlets  are  disagreeable  to  Mr.  So  and  So. 
Graham  bread  is  the  peculiar  diet  of  one,  and  another 
never  touches  any  thing  but  dry  toast ;  and  some  like 
pastry,  and  some  puddings ;  and  what  with  them  all  and 
their  likes  and  dislikes,  the  poor  woman  is  almost  dis 
tracted  with  the  worriment  and  care. 

No  wonder  then  that  she  often  sighs  to  be  free  from 
such  a  bondage !  Her  absent  lodger  never  gave  her  any 
trouble ;  she  can  see  it  now  that  he  is  away,  and  she  only 
wishes  that  his  fat  merry  face  would  soon  show  itself  again 
at  her  table.  It  would  make  her  quite  contented  with  her 
station  at  the  big  waiter. 

It  is  a  -pity  your  mind  's  on  that  train,  Mrs.  Kinalden. 
Mr.  Bond's  heart  is  not  made  of  wax,  and  is  a  terribly  un- 
impressible  object,  so  far  as  the  ladies  are  concerned.  There 
is  only  one  other  heart  to  whose  pulsations  it  has  ever  re 
sponded,  and  that  one  has  ceased  to  beat.  Yours  may 
throb  and  throb  beneath  the  waist  of  your  dove-colored 
merino,  but  his  will  never  answer  it,  be  sure  of  that ! 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

NANNIE  wrote  such  a  long  letter  to  Mr.  Bond,  in  her 
childish,  unformed  way.  She  told  him  every  little  thing 
concerning  their  own  household,  and  the  Flins',  and  Pat's 
misfortunes,  and  their  ejectment  from,  and  reinstalment  in, 
their  attic  home ;  and  she  dwelt  a  great  while  upon 
Mrs.  Flin's  metamorphosis,  and  upon  her  own  new  abode 
with  the  Minturns.  And  the  worthy  bachelor  read  it  all 
with  as  much  delight  as  if  it  had  been  his  pet-newspaper. 
Was  n't  it  just  what  interested  him,  and  he  so  far  away 
from  the  spot  where  all  his  joys  centered  alone,  and  among 
a  strange  people  !  .  What  if  it  was  a  child's  composition — 
was  n't  that  child  Nannie  Bates !  and  had  n't  he  determined 
to  make  something  of  her  in  the  world  !  and  could  n't  he 
see  an  uncommon  degree  of  intelligence  even  in  that  unfin 
ished  epistle ! 

How  he  frowned  when  he  learned  of  Mrs.  Flin's  cruel 
treatment  toward  the  sick  boy  and  the  straitened  family ; 
and  how  he  congratulated  himself  upon  being  rid  of  the 
woman's  importunities  in  behalf  of  the  precocious  Sammy ; 
and  how  he  laughed  at  the  vision  of  Jerold  Flin  treading 
cat-like  over  the  soft  carpets,  and  sending  his  jets  of  liquid 


230  NANNIE     BATES. 

tobacco  all  over  his  ambitious  wife's  new  furniture  !     Oh  ! 
there  was  fun  in  that  childish  letter  to  merry  Mr.  Bond. 

His  landlady  was  growing  amiable !  that  was  the  best  of 
all ;  but  he  guessed  the  secret  of  it,  and  feared  it  would 
not  prove  lasting.  "  It  was  n't  for  nothing,  Peter  Bond," 
soliloquized  he,  "  that  she  was  so  willing  to  be  burdened 
with  the  care  of  thy  favorite  puss !  It  was  n't  for  nothing 
that  so  many  goodies  were  stuffed  into  thy  already  crowded 
valise  !  It  was  n't  for  nothing  that  her  communications 
have  been  so  frequent,  and  contained  such  tender  inquiries 
after  thy  health,  and  such  pathetic  injunctions  to  be  care 
ful  of  thyself !"  You  must  be  a  simpleton,  man,  to  imagine 
that  a  benevolent  disposition  prompted  so  many  manifesta 
tions  all  of  a  sudden,  when  the  past  was  so  different. 
"  But  why  not  ?"  thought  he,  as  his  charitable  heart  sought 
for  a  better  motive  in  the  woman  than  selfishness.  "  Is  n't 
there  such  a  thing  as  an  immediate  turning  from  the  evil 
to  the  good  ?  It  does  not  take  long  to  Change  the  current 
of  one's  actions,  if  one  is  determined  and  energetic.  But 
we  shall  see,  we  shall  see  ;"  and  the  good  man  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  with  his  spectacles  between  his  thumb  and 
forefinger,  and  suffered  himself  to  be  carried  away  into  a 
brighter  past.  He  was  not  long  in  forgetting  Mr.  Kinal- 
den,  and  Mrs.  Flin,  and  even  his  young  protegee,  and, 
looking  off  upon  the  surging  ocean,  he  dreamed  of  a 
distant  land  where  his  spirit  loved  to  linger  with  the  soul 
that  was  hidden  from  other  eyes.  His  reveries  were  very 
soothing  and  pleasant,  and  the  people  would  wonder,  as 


NANNIE     BATES.  231 

they  passed  through  the  covered  gallery  where  the  old  man 
sat  musing,  what  it  could  be  that  imparted  such  a  radiance 
to  his  ingenuous  and  winning  face.  They  could  not  tell 
how  a  true  affection  may  hallow  the  whole  of  life,  investing 
it  with  a  secret  and  mysterious  charm.  They  were  ab 
sorbed  in  other  interests  :  some  had  their  merchandise  out 
upon  the  treacherous  waters,  and  their  souls  were  in  their 
ships ;  and  some  had  their  traffic  in  a  foreign  land,  and 
their -hearts  went  after  it;  and*  some  were  only  pursuing  a 
passing  pleasure,  with  no  definite  object  or  plan  in  existence. 

Oh  !  how  much  they  lost  of  true  good,  while  the  loving 
spirit,  unperturbed  by  the  trifles  that  so  deeply  affected  them, 
sought  its  fellow,  and  with  it  held  a  sweet  and  refining 
communion. 

It  was  a  great  wonderment  to  Mr.  Bond  what  happiness 
there  could  be  in  crowding  together  in  a  saloon,  and  smok 
ing,  and  drinking,  and  card-playing,  and  low  and  boisterous 
conversation.  He  forgot  that  it  would  be  quite  impossible 
for  some  minds  to  think,  and  that  such  need  a  continual 
excitement  to  make  the  hours  endurable. 

Tell  them  to  walk  down  upon  the  wondrous  beach,  and 
interest  themselves  in  the  beauties  of  a  sublime  nature,  or  to 
sit  gazing  upward  with  delight  at  a  heavenly  creation,  or  to 
look  within  themselves  and  strive  after  a  higher  and  more 
perfect  development,  and  how  many  would  not  turn  sneer- 
ingly  away,  and  empty  the  brimming  glass,  or  light  a  fresh 
cigar,  or  begin  a  new  game  at  faro,  with  the  evident  feeling 
that  their  own  ideas  of  pleasure  were  far  before  your  un 
fashionable  and  strange  notions. 


-   CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WHAT  with  Nannie's  wages,  and  her  own  work,  and 
Pat's  board,  besides. an  occasional  perquisite  from  their 
kind  friend,  Mrs.  Bates  was  quite  looking  up  in  the  world. 
She  had  been  able  to  cover  the  floor  with  a  nice  list  carpet, 
and  to  add  a  few  comfortable  and  pretty  articles  of  furni 
ture  from  time  to  time,  so  that  the  little  family  began  to 
feel  that  their  humble  abode  was  the  most  luxurious  place 
they  had  ever  seen.  Their  hearts  were  so  filled  with 
gratitude  for  even  these  homely  comforts,  that  there  was 
no  room  in  them  for  envious  feelings  toward  those  who 
were  possessd  of  more  bounteous  gifts.  A  little  stand  by 
the  window  now  held  Nannie's  plants,  that  were  ever  green 
and  flourishing,  and  there  was  scarcely  a  week  but  some 
sweet  bud  peeped  out  from  the  fresh  leaves  of  the  one,  or 
pure  blossom  burst  forth  from  the  other  to  greet  them. 
The  big  Bible  occupied  its  accustomed  place  in  the  corner, 
and  a  couple  of  neat  shelves,  the  work  of  Pat's  ingenuity, 
held  the  few  books  and  little  ornaments  that  had  been  ac 
cumulating  since  their  good  fortune  commenced.  Winnie's 
cradle  was  put  away  in  her  mother's  bed-room  with  the 
rag-baby  still  lying  beneath  the  small  counterpane,  and  in 


NANNIE    BATES.  233 

its  place  was  Pat's  couch  newly  covered  with  a  gay  flowejed 
chintz.  A  bright  oil-cloth  was  nailed  beneath  the  stove, 
and  in  the  center  of  the  room  stood  a  table,  around  which 
was  gathered  a  loving  trio  every  evening  when  Nannie 
could  be  spared  from  her  little  charge. 

Mrs.  Minturn's  house,  to  be  sure,  was  grand  and  mag 
nificent,  and  abounded  in  every  thing  that  was  costly  and 
elegant,  and  yet,  to  Nannie,  the  square  attic  room  with  its 
modest  apurtenances  was  far  more  beautiful  and  attractive. 
The  eye  of  a  stranger  could  see  only  the  bare  objects  that 
served  to  fill  the  vacant  nooks;  but  the  heart's  strong 
affections,  and  the  devotion  that  counts  nothing  a  toil  that 
can  bring  blessings  to  another,  and  the  motives  of  love  and 
purity  that  dictated  this  or  that  offering,  were  the  hidden 
associations  that  manifested  themselves  to  Nannie's  vision 
and  made  their  inestimable  value,  so  that  could  she  have 
chosen  between  them  and  the  wealth  of  her  employers,  she 
would  gladly  have  taken  the  simple  home. 

Was  n't  it  here  that  peace  had  first  spread  its  soft  wings 
to  shelter  her  long-time  troubled  being !  Was  it  not  here 
that  she  had  learned  what  it  was  to  be  smiled  upon  and 
beloved ;  and  was  it  not  hallowed  to  her  by  the  visits  of 
her  kind  friend  and  the  noble  Pat ;  and,  more  than  all,  was 
it  not  consecrated  by  the  footsteps  of  the  death  angel  that 
came  for  dear  little  Winnie  ?  Oh !  there  is  no  space 
there  for  a  murmuring,  grasping  spirit,  to  take  the  good 
gifts  handed  out  by  a  wise  and  loving  father,  and  to  use 
them  with  a  grateful  feeling  is  all  that  the  righteous  poor 


234  NANNIE    BATES. 

can  wish.  Even  in  their  lowliness  are  they  often  the 
objects  of  envy  to  the  harassed  and  care-ridden  rich,  who 
would  willingly  forego  all  their  superfluous  gains  for  one 
hour  of  contented  ease. 

Mrs.  Minturn  went  frequently  to  Nannie's  home  when 
the  girl  took  little  Dora  out  for  a  walk,  for  she  wished  to 
accustom  her  child  to  the  sight  of  the  various  conditions  of 
life,  so  that  if  she  were  spared  to  womanhood  she  might 
not  be  so  far  removed  from  her  fellow-creatures  as  to 
hesitate  to  enter  any  abode,  however  humble,  and  to 
minister  to  the  needy ;  and  the  gentle  lady  sat  with  her 
silken  robes  falling  over  the  home-spun  carpet,  and  her 
soft  features  exposed  to  the  glare  and  steam  of  that  com 
mon  room,  looking  with  a  happy  heart  upon  the  joyous 
group  before  her.  The  poor  widow,  with  her  gown  of 
print  and  checked  apron,  laid  down  her  weary  needle  to 
attend  to  the  sweet  voice  that  ever  sounded  so  soothingly 
in  her  ear,  and  the  delighted  child  shook  its  rough  toys, 
holding  them  up  to  the  view,  first  of  one,  and  then  the 
other,  and  laughing  aloud  in  her  boisterous  glee. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

MR.  BOND  was  coming  home !  the  glad  news  was  in 
Nannie's  hand,  and  he  was  even  then  bounding  over  the 
waters  toward  his  lowly  friends. 

The  room  looked  very  sunny  that  morning,  and  the 
hearts  of  the  expectant  ones  danced  for  joy.  He  would 
be  there  the  next  week,  and  they  must  all  be  there  to  meet 
him  on  Friday — that  seemed  so  like  a  reality,  to  name  the 
very  day.  Pat  could  request  a  holiday  of  his  employers, 
and,  as  for  Mrs.  Minturn,  she  was  sure  to  participate  in  all 
of  Nannie's  pleasures,  and  would  be  ready  with  the  per 
mission  to  spend  the  important  day  at  her  mother's.  The 
greatest  trouble  was  the  intervening  hours ;  how  could 
they  be  .comfortably  disposed  of!  they  had  duties  enough 
to  perform,  and  yet  the  time  went  slowly  and  wearily ;  but 
it  had  an  end,  and  a  happy  one — for  the  kind  face  was 
before  them,  as  fat  and  merry  and  amiable  as  ever,  and  the 
immense  corporosity  moved  about  the  room  with  as  much 
gravity  as  so  jolly  a  person  was  capable  of.  Nobody 
would  have  suspected  that  he  had  ever  been  ill,  or  that  the 
shadow  of  a  sorrow  had  ever  troubled  him.  Seated  beside 
the  window  with  the  June  air  playing  blandly  upon  his 


236  NANNIE     BATES. 

forehead,  lie  congratulated  himself  that  he  was  once  more 
among  his  friends.  What  if  they  were  humble  and  poor ! 
there  was  a  depth  and  richness  in  their  love  for  him  that 
neither  comes  of  station  nor  wealth,  and  it  sunk  soothingly 
and  gratefully  into  his  glad  heart,  making  it  fruitful  in  a 
pure  joy. 

"  It  is  not  quite  so  pleasant  bouncing  up  and  down  at  the 
will  of  the  angry  waves,  Nannie,"  said  he,  "  as  to  sit  quietly 
in  this  lolling-chair  with  your  friends  all  about  you,  I  can 
tell  you,  my  girl !"  and  he  looked  at  Nannie  with  a  twinkle 
and  a  laugh,  as  if  to  say,  "  I  'm  well  out  of  it,  though. 
The  ocean  does  n't  have  any  mercy  on  a  body's  bones,  but 
tosses  you  about  as  if  you  were  an  India-rubber  ball  made 
on  purpose ;"  added  he,  bursting  into  a  hearty  roar  as  he 
caught  Mrs.  Bates'  eye  fastened  upon  his  rotund  pro 
portions,  as  if  to  ascertain  were  the  bones  were.  "  Oh ! 
well,  my  good  woman,"  continued  he,  "even  a  porpoise 
could  n't  stand  the  bumping  and  thumping  that  we  poor 
mortals  are  subject  to  when  we  trust  ourselves  on  ship 
board.  Why,  I  solemnly  protest  that*  I  've  been  pitched 
from  my  berth,  many  a  time,  quite  across  the  cabin  into 
my  neighbor's  and  back  again,  in  a  trice,  and  that  without 
ceremony,  too !" 

The  old  gentleman  did  not  seem  very  indignant,  but 
smiled  upon  his  auditors  as  placidly  as  if  there  had  been 
nothing  but  calm  on  his  homeward  journey,  and  he  did  not 
even  mind  their  merriment  as  they  pictured  to  themselves 
his  robust  figure  bounding  about  like  a  foot-ball. 


NANNIE     BATES.  237 

You  are  in  the  right  of  it,  Mr.  Bond.  If  you  are  the 
object  of  an  innocent  glee,  it  is  better  to  join  in  the  merry 
laugh,  rather  than  to  don  a  severe  and  offended  dignity. 
It  is  quite  a  funny  thought,  though,  that,  amid  such  pitiless 
peltings  you  should  escape  with  not  even  the  slightest  im 
pression  upon  your  fleshless  bones!  well,  there's  some 
comfort  in  being  fat,  you  have  that  to  console  you.  He 
does  n't  look  as  if  he  ever  needed  to  be  consoled,  but  I  can 
tell  you  that  even  Mr.  Bond  is  not  wholly  exempt  from  the 
annoyances  and  trials  of  life !  He  has  learned  how  to 
make  the  best  of  every  thing,  and  that  is  more  than  half 
toward  averting  a  trouble.  Put  a  cheerful  face  upon  the 
matter,  it  will  but  make  it  worse  to  fret  and  frown  and  keep 
your  neighbors  uncomfortable  about  it,  besides  working 
yourself  into  a  teapot !  Mr.  Bond  crowded  all  the  evils 
down  into  the  deepest  corner  of  his  heart  and  turned  the 
key  upon  them,  and  that  was  the  end  of  them.  Nobody 
ever  got  hold  of  and  magnified  them,  until  he  felt  that  they 
were  too  painful  for  any  mortal  to  bear,  for  he  kept  them 
so  close  that  they  had  not  room  to  breathe,  and  so  suffo 
cated,  and  he  knew  nothing  more  about  them. 

It  was  a  way  of  Mr.  Bond's — there,  could  n't  every  body 
do  it — there  's  a  certain  process  to  go  through  before  one 
can  learn,  and  he  had  tried  it  thoroughly,  and  was  really  a 
proficient  in  the  thing.  It  is  n't  every  body  that  cares  to 
learn — it  is  very  pleasant  to  draw  a  friend  into  a  corner  and 
pour  into  a  willing  and  sympathizing  ear  all  that  affects 
one  deprossingly,  but  it  is  ^a  question  whether  either  is 


238  NANNIE     BATES. 

benefited  by  the  confidence — the  gloom  may  not  only 
be  deepened  upon  your  own  face,  but  it  may  reflect  itself 
upon  the  countenance  before  you  also.  Better  imitate  the 
amiable  and  wise  bachelor,  and  impart  nothing  but  that 
which  will  bring  a  bright  gleam  with  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

* 

MBS.  KINALDEN  was  in  a  terrible  flutter.  Her  lodger's 
"traps"  had  come,  and  were  well  disposed  in  his  silent 
room  ;  she  had  every  thing  in  order  to  receive  him.  The 
light  and  the  sun  were  admitted  into  the  long-time  dark 
ened  space,  and  puss  was  curled  up  upon  the  rug  as  if  she 
had  never  known  another  resting-place.  The  dove-colored 
merino  went  up  and  down  the  stairs,  and  the  clean  cap- 
border  flew  backward  with  every  agitated  movement. 

"  It  was  very  strange  that  he  did  n't  come !  Had  n't  the 
boat  been  in  since  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  ?  so  the 
truckman  told  her,  and  here  were  the  hands  at  two  in  the 
afternoon !  There  was  no  accounting  for  it  after  all  that 
had  passed  between  them!"  However,  it  couldn't  be 
helped,  and  as  the  hour  of  three  struck,  and  no  Mr.  Bond 
appeared,  the  despairing  woman  betook  herself  to  her 
green  moreen  rocking-chair,  and,  what  else  could  she  do  ? 
— wept.  Yes,  wept !  and  while  the  red  silk  handkerchief 
hid  her  disappointed  face,  a  heavy  step  sounded  in  the 
hall,  and  a  familiar  voice  came  through  the  half-open  door 
of  the  little  parlor.  "  Heigh-ho  !  what 's  the  matter  here  ? 
I  thought  I  'd  escaped  the  terrors  of  the  briny  deep ;  but 
bless  my  heart !  here  I  am  in  the  midst  of  it  again !"  and 


240  NANNIE    BATES. 

Mr.  Bond's  plump  hand  was  extended  to  greet  his  land 
lady,  who  quickly  wiped  away  the  offending  drops,  and 
grew  calm.  "  Couldn't  come  before,  madam,"  said  he,  in 
reply  to  her  question  as  to  what  had  detained  him  so  long. 
"  Had  to  go  first  and  see  how  Nannie  and  Pat  got  on,  you 
know !"  That  was  rather  overwhelming — so  inconsistent 
with  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Kinalden." 

The  shocked  widow  looked  indignant  and  muttered 
something  about  "  professions  of  regard,"  and  "  affectionate 
epistles,"  etc. ;  but  it  was  all  lost  upon  the  obtuse  man  who 
talked  on,  about  what  especially  concerned  him,  and  then 
went  gleefully  up  the  stairs. 

What  wonder  if  his  heart  did  beat  quicker  as  his  hand 
touched  the  knob  of  his  room-door !  Is  n't  it  like  meeting 
a  dear  friend,  after  a  long  absence,  to  cross  the  threshold 
of  a  cherished  locality?  The  very  inanimate  things 
seemed  invested  with  a  silent  joy  at  his  return,  and  the 
face  from  the  portrait  beamed  out  a  glad  welcome.  There 
are  tears  in  the  bachelor's  eyes  as  they  meet  the  blue  orbs 
so  fondly  fastened  upon  him,  for  his  thoughts  are  upon  the 
gentle  and  confiding  embrace  that  was  once  his.  Woo 
unto  you,  Mrs.  Kinalden  !  If  there  were  a  single  impreg 
nable  spot  in  the  good  man's  bosom,  that  tear  would  never 
have  found  its  birth. 

Puss,  awakened  by  the  heavy  foot-falls,  leaps  about  her 
master's  legs,  and  gives  a  spring  into  his  narrow  lap,  as  he 
takes  his  chair,  maintaining  her  precarious  position  by 
fastening  her  claws  tightly  in  his  broadcloth,  to  the  no 


NANNIE     BATES.  241 

small  danger  of  the  limbs  beneath,  and  purrs  her  perfect 
satisfaction.  Oh !  it 's  a  good  thing  to  get  home !  There 's 
not  so  comfortable  a  place  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  as  the 
spot  we  call  our  own,  with  the  objects  that  meet  our  daily 
touch  strewn  all  about  in  their  accustomed  places.  It 's  a 
pleasant  thing  to  go  out  into  the  wide  world  too,  and 
gather  up  a  noble  stock  of  incidents  and  experience,  and 
thoughts,  to  expand  the  ideas  that  get  pent-up  and  con 
tracted  by  a  narrow  and  confined  position ;  but  it  is  far 
better  to  turn  about  with  one's  face  toward  the  dearer  haunts 
and  the  best  loved  friends,  and  the  familiar  pleasures ! 

So  thought  the  weary  old  man,  as  he  sat  in  his  big  arm 
chair,  while  his  vision  roved  from  one  thing  to  another  in 
his  cosey  room,  and  the  warm  breath  of  his  favorite  puss 
touched  his  hand. 

It  was  all  like  a  dream  to  him — the  path  he  had 
trodden  upon  the  deep,  and  the  wanderings  amid  tropical 
scenes,  and  the  transition  from  place  to  place  within  the  last 
few  months !  He  arose  and  looked  into  the  garden  be 
low.  When  he  had  left,  a  white  covering  was  spread  over 
every  thing  and  the  sun's  rays  fell  coldly  upon  snow  and 
ice.  -Novf  there  was  fresh  foliage  upon  trees  and  shrubs, 
and  the  perfume  from  newly-blown  roses  came  up  to  greet 
his  willing  senses,  and  the  little  girls  were  playing  under 
the  thick  shade.  They  looked  up  with  a  merry  shout,  as 
a  shower  of  bon-bons  fell  upon  their  heads,  and  clapped 
their  hands  for  very  rapture,  as  the  happy  face  peered  out 
upon  them  through  the  half-closed  blinds. 
11 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

CAPTAIN  FLIN  and  his  wife  are  coining  down  the  street 
in  full  gala  attire.  The  pipe  has  vanished,  but  the  card- 
case  is  still  conspicuous  amid  the  folds  of  a  stiffly-starched 
embroidered  handkerchief.  They  have  been  to  see  the 
Airlys,  and  have  posted  themselves  up  in  all  their  affairs, 
and  they  are  now  en  route  to  return  the  numerous  visits  that 
have  been  paid  to  their  new  house  and  furniture.  If  that 
could  have  been  put  upon  rollers  and  trundled  about  to 
drop  its  card,  it  would  have  been  quite  an  acceptable  dep 
uty,  and  would  have  saved  a  world  of  embarrassment  to 
the  unsophisticated  couple. 

There 's  a  worthy  man  upon  the  walk  at  a  short  distance 
from  them.  He  shuffles  along  with  his  heavy  gait  and 
home-spun  dress,  but  there  is  a  good  honest  frankness  in 
his  face  that  commends  him  to  the  passers-by.  He  has 
almost  reached  them,  and  is  about  to  give  some  token  of 
recognition,  when  they  whisk  across  the  street  with  averted 
looks.  Did  n't  I  tell  you  so,  Captain  Flin  ?  The  twelve 
month  lacks  a  week,  and  Jerry  Doolan  has  gone  to  his 
home  with  downcast  mien  and  a  heavy  heart,  because  his 
old  friend  has  purposely  avoided  him.  Don't  I  know  some- 


BATES.  243 

thing  of  human  nature,  and  how  contaminating  heaped-up 
coppers  are  ?  It  is  not  every  body  that  will  bear  even  a 
moderate  degree  of  wealth,  particularly  among  those  who 
have  no  other  foundation  to  build  their  consequence  upon. 
You  are  not  wholly  given  over  yet,  Captain  Flin,  for  there 
are  evidences  of  self-accusings  in  your  confession.  "  I  'm 
sorry  we  cut  poor  Jerry,  wife!  It  wouldn't  hurt  us -to 
speak  to  him  !"  You  '11  come  right  again,  man ;  we  're 
sure  of  that.  Mrs.  Flin  thinks  it  is  well  enough  to  show 
Jerry  that  their  position  in  life  is  different  from  what  it 
used  to  be,  and  she  is  afraid  that  if  she  condescends  to  no 
tice  him,  even  casually,  it  will  be  an  excuse  for  him  to  send 
Duggy  up  to  play  with  Sammy ;  and  is  n't  she  trying  as 
hard  as  she  can  to  make  Sammy  forgetful  of  the  past,  and 
mindful  only  of  their  present  exaltation !  The  Captain 
acknowledges  that  it  is  a  good  idea  to  try  to  make  some 
thing  of  Sammy,  but  he  feels  as  if  he  is  himself  rather  too 
old  to  remodel  into  a  polished  gentleman,  after  so  long  a 
probation  of  hardening  and  roughening  too.  He  considers 
it  a  real  trial  to  sit  by  with  his  great  hands  hanging  by  his 
side,  while  his  wife  talks  to  her  grand  acquaintances  with  a 
volubility  that  he  never  before  imagined  her  possessed  of; 
and  he  only  misses  still  more  the  quid  that  used  to  keep  his 
own  tongue  occupied.  It  is  such  a  relief  when  the  last  call 
is  made,  and  their  steps  are  bent  toward  their  own  door. 
Mrs.  Flin  goes  to  her  room  to  divest  herself  of  some  of  her 
superfluous  finery,  and  her  husband  quietly  takes  the  op 
portunity  to  don  his  shaggy  coat  and  light  his  pipe,  and 


244  NANNIE    BATES. 

while  she  fancies  him  safe  within  their  own  walls,  he  is 
striding  swiftly  toward  Jerry  Doolan's  to  tell  him  what  an 
old  fool  he  made  of  himself  in  the  morning,  and  to  remove 
the  heaviness  from  his  friend's  heart  by  an  hour  of  familiar 
chat. 

"  Fact  is,  Jerry,"  says  he,  "  wife  may  as  well  hang  up  her 
fiddle  about  me ;  can't  make  a  whistle  out  of  a  pig's  tail, 
man,  I  tell  ye !  She  may  fuss  up  the  young  'un  as  much 
as  she  's  a  mind  to,  but  it  '11  be  labor  lost  over  an  old  chap 
like  me.  I  feel  more  at  home  down  here  in  the  old  place, 
and  a  plaguy  sight  more  comfortable,  than  I  do  with  all  the 
nice  fixins  she 's  got  together  up  yonder ;  and  I  '11  tell 
you  what  it  is,  Jerry,  we  '11  have  many  a  smoke  and  talk 
yet,  while  the  women  folks  do  up  their  callin'.  I  've  been 
once,  and  that 's  once  too  many,  and  it  will  take  a  taut  pull 
to  get  me  at  that  business  again ;"  and  the  old  sailor  puffed 
away  at  his  pipe,  and  congratulated  himself  in  his  firm 
resolution  not  to  be  whiffled  about  so  easily  as  heretofore 
by  his  wife's  ambitious  whims. 

A  pretty  time  there  was  of  it,  though,  when  he  reached 
home  again,  and  Mrs.  Flin  pumped  out  of  him  where  he 
had  been.  "  It 's  all  of  no  use,  Jerold  Flin,"  said  she,  "  for 
me  to  be  a  strivin'  and  a  strivin'  to  keep  up  the  honor  of 
the  house,  and  you  continually  running  back  to  your  low 
associates."  But  seeing  that  her  husband  was  not  much 
affected  by  any  of  her  appeals  she  turned  her  aspirations 
to  the  boy,  whose  life  she  almost  teased  out  with  her  in 
junctions  not  to  do  this,  for  James  Airly  did  n't,  and  to  be 


NANNIE    BATES.  245 

sure  to  do  that,  because  James  Airly  did.  You  need  not 
exert  yourself,  Mrs.  Flin,  the  boy 's  a  "  chip  of  the  old 
block,"  and  you  can  not  make  him  otherwise.  If  you  '11 
only  try  to  implant  within  him  good  principles,  and  teach 
him  that  kindness  of  heart  that  always  results  in  a  true 
courtesy,  it  will  benefit  him  more  than  all  the  fashionable 
notions  you  can  gather  from  the  external  example  of  your 
neighbor  Airly's  children,  I  can  assure  you.  This  life  is  too 
noble  and  too  dignified  to  be  frittered  away  in  vain  attempts 
after  a  worthless  outside.  There  is  a  genuine  refinement 
and  polish  that  comes  from  a  strict  adherence  to  the  golden 
rule ;  this  is  what  I  would  have  you  impress  upon  Master 
Sammy. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

"  How  d'  ye  do,  Nannie  ?"  said  young  Flin,  as  be  met  the 
girl  walking  with  Dora,  Sammy  was  on  his  way  to  school 
with  his  satchel  on  his  arm,  and  could  only  stop  a  minute ; 
but  he  always  did  like  Nannie  Bates,  and  he  was  glad  to 
get  an  opportunity  to  tell  her  that  he  would  see  her  some 
times  if  his  mother  would  let  him  go  down  to  the  old 
house.  "  You  see  I  have  to  study  very  hard,  now,"  said 
he,  with  a  disdainful  toss  of  his  books  to  the  walk ;  "  and  I 
don't  love  it,  Nannie,  but  mother  says  she  wants  me  to  be 
a  great  man  one  of  these  days,  and  that 's  the  way  to  bring  . 
it  about.  I  don't  see  though  how  it  will  do  it,  if  I  study 
all  my  life  and  don't  learn  any  thing  !" 

"  But,"  said  Nannie,  "  you  ought  to  try  to  improve  since 
you  have  the  means  to  get  a  good  education ;  I  wish 
mother  was  rich  enough  to  send  me  to  school  all  the 
time !"  and  she  took  the  satchel  and  looked  over  the  books 
with  a  wistful  air,  while  Sammy  amused  himself  with  the 
child. 

"  There 's  the  old  bell,"  said  he,  as  the  first  faint  tones 
came  gratingly  to  his  ear,  "  and  I  suppose  I  must  go ;  I  'm 
sure  I  'd  rather  play  than  sit  bending  over  my  desk  all  day, 


NANNIE    BATES.  247 

but  good-by,  Nannie,  when  I  'm  bigger  I  '11  come  to  see 
you  as  often  as  I  've  a  mind ;"  and  away  he  ran,  while 
Nannie  stood  looking  after  him  and  wishing  for  the  veiy 
privilege  that  he  spurned. 

It  would  have  done  her  some  good,  but  Mr.  Bond 
thought  "  she  knew  enough  already.  She  could  read,  write, 
and  cipher,  and  did  n't  she  know  Pilgrim's  Progress  from 
beginning  to  end ;  that  was  all  he  had  ever  learned,  and 
had  n't  he  gone  through  life  well  enough  so  far !" 

You  are  a  nice  good-hearted  jolly  old  man,  Peter  Bond, 
and  your  merry  happy  face  and  amiable  temper  will  com 
pensate  for  any  deficiency  in  intellectual  attainment ;  but 
Nannie  Bates  has  a  craving  mind,  and  it  must  have 
nourishment.  You  don't  know  how  early  she  is  out  of  her 
bed,  stowed  away  in  Mrs.  Minturn's  attic  with  a  book  in 
her  hand,  nor  how  many  pages  she  devours  while  nursing 
Dora.  She  does  not  neglect  her  little  charge,  but  invents 
a  thousand  ways  to  keep  her  pleased  and  contented,  while 
she  gleans  a  little  more  knowledge  every  day.  It's  as 
tonishing  how  much  the  girl  has  gained  already,  and  she 
has  a  double  motive  in  it,  too  ;  there 's  another  mind  wait 
ing  to  have  it  imparted,  and  the  two  expand,  night  after 
night,  as  they  give  their  gathered  ideas  to  each  other  in 
the  one  short  hour.  It 's  not  much  time,  but  it  accumu 
lates,  in  one  year,  thirty  days  !  think  of  it !  Supposing  it 
were  spent  in  foolish  talking  and  jesting,  or  in  parading 
the  walks  with  the  other  boys  and  girl!  there  would 
be  thirty  days  wasted,  and  two  minds  robbed,  and  two 


248  NANNIE    BATES. 

intelligent  faces  despoiled  of  their  chief  attractions.  Pat 
has  grown  quite  fine-looking  since  the  obtuse  look  has 
given  place  to  such  a  sensible  inquiring  expression,  and  a 
soul  speaks  out  from  Nannie's  eyes  now  that  she  bestows 
more  culture  upon  the 'mental  part. 

You  're  right,  Mr.  Bond.  It  is  not  necessary  for  Nannie 
Bates  to  go  to  school !  she  will  come  out  quite  as  bright  as 
thousands  who  are  kept  at  their  books  by  a  rod  over 
their  backs.  She  can  not  help  acquiring,  wherever  she  is  ! 
She  appears  very  modest  and  very  attentive  to  the  child  as 
she  stands  in  the  drawing-room  of  her  mistress  while  Dora 
is  exhibiting  to  the  many  guests  ;  but  her  ear  is  becoming 
accustomed  to  a  pure  language,  and  her  imitative  powers 
soon  adopt  it.  She  will  make  a  very  lady-like  little  wife 
for  somebody  !  Pat  sees  it,  and  does  what  he  can  to  keep 
up  with  her.  There'll  be  a  struggle  for  her,  though. 
Mike  Dugan  goes  to  Mrs.  Minturn's  very  often,  and  when 
ever  Nannie  is  sent  to  the  kitchen  on  any  mission  there 's 
a  paper  of  candy  for  her,  or  a  kind  pleasant  word,  or 
a  fond  look,  and  she  begins  to  think  Mike  a  very  nice  sort 
of  lad ;  when  Pat  finds  how  things  are  going,  "  he  does  n't 
think  he  would  put  himself  in  Mike  Dugan's  way  if  he 
were  Nannie !  He  's  a  great  rough,  red-headed,  ugly  fel 
low,  and  would  n't  make  much  of  a  husband  for  any  girl !" 

Nannie  is  n't  thinking  of  husbands,  and  only  wonders 
why  Pat  dislikes  Mike  so  much  when  he  is  as  kind  to  her 
as  a  brother  would  be.  She  does  n't  think  him  ugly  at  all. 
She  remembers  that  he  has  red  hair.  It  does  n't  strike 


NANNIE     BATES.  249 

her  that  Pat's  is,  if  possible,  a  shade  more  fiery.     She  has 
never  thought  of  comparing  them,  Mike  is  a  clever  fellow, 
and  all  the  girls  like  him  ;  but  Pat,  is  Pat,  and  she  would 
not  have  him  like  any  body  else  for  all  the  world ! 
11* 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MRS.  KINALDEN'S  face  has  grown  long  again,  and  the 
sour  look  has  returned.  It  is  strange  what  a  gutta-percha 
capacity  it  has !  Not  so  very  strange  though  since  she  has 
not  attended  to  the  direction  to  purge  herself  from  all  in 
ternal  sources  of  disquiet. 

There  is  n't  a  person  in  the  world  that  could  maintain 
an  equable  temperament  and  expression,  if  every  little  out 
ward  vexation  were  suffered  to  penetrate  him.  Mrs. 
Kinalden  has  never  learned  to  look  within  for  her  chief 
pleasure  and  enjoyment.  Poor  soul !  it  is  little  she  would 
find  to  attract  her  in  its  present  aspect,  and  that  is  the 
reason  she  does  no!  care  to  enter  the  recesses  of  her  heart ; 
but  depends  upon  the  things  that  surround  her  for  her  de 
light  ;  and  they  can  not  but  fail  to  bring  her  any  peace. 
If  she  would  only  consent  to  sweep  and  garnish  the  hidden 
chambers,  and  adorn  them  with  the  beauteous  and  goodly 
things  which  all  may  possess,  she  would  find  it  very  com 
forting  to  withdraw  from  other  things,  and  spend  her 
sweetest  moments  there,  and  the  bright  cheerful  expression 
would  be  permanent  then. 

It  is  not  easy  to  take  this  advice,  however,  and  we  give 


NANNIE     BATES.  251 

the  landlady  up  as  a  hopeless  case.  Mr.  Bond  is  the  only 
person  whose  arguments  weigh  any  thing  with  her,  and  he, 
indifferent  man,  does  not  even  perceive  his  influence ;  but 
goes  about  his  own  business,  as  if  there  were  no  disconso 
late  widow  pining  away  her  desolate  being  for  him.  The 
boarders  recognize  the  fact,  and  they  enjoy  the  fun,  and 
flatter  her  into  the  belief  that  the  bachelor  is  willin',  but 
too  diffident  to  propose,  and  they  tell  her  that  she  must  not 
be  shy — that  she  can  reveal  the  state  of  her  feelings  in  a 
delicate  way — and,  when  they  have  eveiy  thing  in  a  right 
train,  they  withdraw  from  the  little  parlor,  as  Mr.  Bond 
comes  in  for  a  moment's  conversation  with  the  old  lady. 
She  is  terribly  perturbed  now  that  the  moment  has  really 
come,  and  the  innocent  man  seeing  her  distress,  and  fear 
ing  that  some  serious  evil  has  happened  to  occasion  it, 
begs  her  to  tell  him  what  troubles  her,  assuring  her  of  his 
sympathy  and  aid.  He  even  places  a  chair  near  her,  and 
seats  himself  so  close  to  her  that  his  hand  rests  upon  the 
arm  of  the  sofa  where  she  is  sitting. 

She  loses  her  fear  then,  and  says,  in  a  tremulous  tone, 
she  has  been  thinking  of  Mr.  Kinalden.  Mr.  Bond  appre 
ciates  that.  Is  not  there  a  kindred  spirit  in  his  own 
thoughts  every  moment  of  his  life  ?  Mrs.  Kinalden  begins 
to  rise  in  his  estimation,  and  he  chides  himself  for  ever 
imagining  her  untrue  to  her  husband's  memory ;  so  he 
sighs,  and  listens  as  she  goes  on  to  say  that  she  used  to 
have  scruples  about  throwing  off  her  widowhood  ;  but  her 
days  are  very  lonely,  and  she  might  be  induced  *to  change 


252  NANNIE    BATES. 

her  mind.  Mr.  Bond  puts  her  down  a  peg  again ;  but 
feeling  that  he  must  congratulate  her  if  she  has  really  de 
termined  to  marry,  he  tells  her  he  is  really  very  happy  ! 
and  this  encourages  her  to  speak  openly  of  him  as  the 
object  of  her  affectionate  designs. 

There  is  a  suppressed  giggle  in  an  adjoining  room  as 
the  quick  tread  of  the  bachelor  is  heard  upon  the  stairs ; 
but  he  does  not  feel  like  laughing.  He  is  shocked !  he  is 
indignant,  that  any  one  should  ever  dream  of  his  being 
faithless  to  his  early  love  ! 

How  he  came  face  to  face  with  the  cherished  portrait, 
he  does  not  know  !  That  something  strange  has  occurred 
he  is  sure  ;  yet  he  stands  there  in  his  bewildered  mood,  a 
long,  long  time,  wondering  whether  he  is  in  or  out  of  the 
body,  and  why  Betty  Lathrop  could  not  have  been  spared 
to  cheer  his  declining  years  ?  What !  Peter  Bond  is  not 
sad! 

Is  n't  it  enough  to  depress  any  one  to  be  surprised  by 
such  a  novel  and  unwelcome  announcement  when  his  own 
heart  is  dead  to  all  but  the  one  beloved  ? 

Of  course  Mr.  Bond  could  not  remain  in  Mrs.  Kinal- 
den's  house  after  this,  and  so  he  took  a  room  in  the  same 
house  with  his  young  friends,  and  Nannie's  mother  went 
in  every  day  to  keep  it  in  order,  and  it  soon  grew  to  be  as 
dear  as  the  old  spot,  for  the  same  furniture  was  there,  and 
the  same  face  upon  the  canvas. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

\ 

THE  good  man  can  now  make  one  of  the  party  that 
assembles  every  evening  in  the  pleasant  attic.  He  has  not 
the  distance  to  keep  him  away,  nor  the  weather,  nor  a 
feeble  state  of  health,  and  right  glad  he  is  that  every  ob 
stacle  to  so  welcome  a  privilege  is  removed.  A  stranger, 
used  to  the  polish  and  luxury  of  a  different  sphere,  would 
wonder  how  such  content  and  happiness  could  reign  amid 
apparent  lowliness  and  effort,  for  although  things  present  a 
neat  and  thrifty  aspect  in  the  little  room,  it  is  evident,  that 
much  toil  is  necessaiy  in  order  to  maintain  even  this  degree 
of  prosperity.  The  busy  fingers  of  the  mother  are  ever 
engaged  with  the  needle,  and  the  child  is  separated  from  her 
home  by  a  needful  economy;  yet  there  is  a  real  joy  in  every 
moment  spent  together,  which  might  well  excite  the  envy 
as  well  as  the  curiosity  of  a  spectator.  People  are  so  long 
a  time  learning  that  harmony  is  of  more  value  in  a  house 
hold  than  thousands  of  gold  or  silver — that  "  a  dinner  of 
herbs,  where  love  is,  is  better  than  the  stalled  ox  and  hatred 
therewith."  Perhaps  if  they  could  look  in  upon  some  of 
their  wealthy  neighbors,  who  are  rich  in  every  thing  but 
the  blessed  element  that  money  can  not  purchase,  and  then 


254  NANNIE    BATES. 

return  to  the  liumble  place  that  overfloweth  with  love  and 
peace,  they  would  be  ready  to  acknowledge  wherein  true 
happiness  consists,  and  to  search  for  it  with  as  much  ardor 
as  they  now  do  for  an  increased  treasury  or  a  higher  sta 
tion.  Mrs.  Bates  never  troubled  herself  as  to  who  was 
better  off  than  she  in  point  of  tangible  good,  but  she  per 
fectly  reveled  in  the  sunny  atmosphere  of  her  pleasant 
home,  endeavoring  so  to  fix  its  present  blessedness  that  no 
outward  vicissitudes  would  be  able  to  affect  it. 

She  had  no  verbal  eloquence  with  which  to  commend  a 
contented  and  glad  disposition  to  the  members  of  her 
household,  but  her  example  was  more  forcible  than  precept, 
and  there  needed  no  other  adviser.  It  was  not  always  so  ; 
Nannie  can  look  back  to  a  sorrowful  period,  when  even  the 
hope-light  was  hidden  from  them,  and  they  all  feel  that  the 
leaven  of  the  kind,  and  Christian,  and  benevolent  heart  has 
exercised  its  changing  and  salutary  power  among  them. 

Well  may  you  look  about  upon  the  group  before  you 
with  a  placid  feeling,  Peter  Bond.  Is  n't  it  worth  a  few 
more  years  severance  from  the  spirit  that  awaiteth  thee 
elsewhere,  to  see  so  noble  a  work — the  result  of  thy  instru 
mentality  ?  It  was  a  strange  Providence  to  thee  that 
raised  thee  up  from  the  jaws  of  death  and  set  thee  upon 
thy  strong  feet  again  ;  but  to  question  its  wisdom  was  per 
fect  folly — that  thou  feelest  now  as  thy  usefulness  becomes 
apparent  even  to  thy  humility. 

Nannie  wonders  what  subject  is  agitating  her  friend,  as 
his  face  grows  thoughtful  and  serious  ;  but  she  does  not  in- 


NANNIE     BATES.  255 

terrupt  his  meditations,  for  she  has  many  a  moment  of 
quiet  reflection  that  she  would  n't  have  broken  for  all  the 
world,  so  she  keeps  very  still  until  her  hour  has  expired, 
and  then  says  "  good-night,"  so  gently  that  he  is  not  dis 
turbed. 

Mr.  Bond  goes  to  his  room,  with  puss  sauntering  after, 
and  Mrs.  Bates  indulges  herself  in  a  cat -nap  in  her  chair, 
while  Pat  is  enjoying  the  moonlight  walk  to  Mrs.  Minturn's 
with  Nannie.  He  is  as  happy  as  happy  can  be  until  they 
reach  the  house,  and  Mike  Dugan  confronts  them  with  a 
gift  for  Nannie.  It 's  all  spoiled  now  !  Pat  frowns  upon 
Mike,  and  making  a  gruff  adieu  to  Nannie,  walks  back 
again,  with  an  uncomfortable  feeling  as  if  all  the  world  is 
against  him  ;  and  Nannie  puts  the  unopened  parcel  upon 
the  table,  and  cries  herself  asleep,  with  Pat's  daguerreotype 
under  her  pillow  and  his  rough  adieu  in  her  heart. 

Poor  children  !  it 's  the  same  the  world  over — smiles  and 
tears,  and  smiles  again ;  heart-breakings  and  heart-mend 
ings  ;  quarrels  and  reconciliations.  There  's  no  help  for  it ; 
you  must  have  your  own  experience  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

MIKE,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  strolls  homeward, 
whistling  a  merry  tune  as  he  thinks  of  the  smile  upon  the 
young  face  that  haunts  him.  He  does  not  fancy  there  will 
be  much  difficulty  in  winning  Nannie  Bates.  "All  the 
girls  like  him,  and  why  should  n't  she  ?"  Mike  has  a  tol 
erable  favorable  opinion  of  himself.  lie  keeps  a  livery- 
stable  in street,  and  takes  the  girls  out  to  drive,  and 

he  flourishes  his  whip,  and  trots  his  fast  horses  along  the 
roads  with  the  best  of  them.  There  is  a  bravado  sort  of 
way  about  him  that  tells  among  his  companions,  who  look 
up  to  him  with  a  certain  degree  of  veneratio'n,  as  a  being 
of  rather  a  superior  order  to  themselves.  He  twists  his 
red  hair  over  a  hot  iron  till  it  stands  up  all  about  his  head 
in  little  bits  of  curls ;  and  he  has  grown  a  flaming  mus 
tache  that  is  really  quite  killing  among  his  female  acquaint 
ances.  No  wonder  he  is  so  easy  concerning  Nannie  Bates ! 
He  could  n't  Imagine  that  Pat  Rourke,  with  his  uncouth 
ways  and  brusque  appearance  could  presume  to  rival  him 
in  her  heart !  So  he  enters  the  stable  with  a  joyous  spring, 
and  goes  the  rounds  cheerfully,  patting  Berk's  back,  and 


NANNIE    BATES.  257 

speaking  pleasantly  to  Roscoe,  and  giving  an  ear  of  corn  to 
Arab,  and  a  little  more  hay  to  all. 

There  's  no  doubt  of  his  supremacy  there — the  grateful 
animals  neigh,  and  paw,  and  rub  their  noses  fondly  upon 
his  shoulder  as  he  passes  fearlessly  around  them.  If  Nan 
nie  could  see  his  devotion  to  the  helpless  and  dumb  it 
would  awaken  within  her  a  far  deeper  regard  than  the 
combined  results  of  curling-tongs  and  pomatum,  or  the 
outward  flourish  and  glitter  of  his  equestrian  establishment. 

Mike  has  a  tender  heart ;  any  body  can  see  that  who 
visits  his  nice  stables,  and  looks  upon  the  plump,  well- 
cared-for  horses.  He  has  a  spice  of  vanity ;  the  girls  are 
responsible,  in  a  measure,  for  this,  for  they  have  flattered 
him  until  he  begins  to  think  he  may  be  good  enough  for 
any  of  them  ;  but  he  only  thinks  of  Nannie  Bates  as  a  fit 
and  desirable  companion  for  him,  and  he  works  diligently 
to  get  the  means  to  buy  them  a  home.  Pat  strives, 
with  the  same  end  constantly  in  view,  and  Nannie  smiles 
on  them  both  with  her  winning,  happy  face,  never  dream 
ing  herself  the  motive-power  to  such  untiring  energy. 
She  wonders  why  Pat  puts  so  much  of  his  earnings  in  the 
savings'  bank,  contenting  himself  with  his  old  suit,  which 
has  grown  quite  rusty  from. such  continual  wear;  and  when 
Mike  whispers  her,  in  'a  sly  way,  that  he  is  trying  to  get  a 
home  to  offer  a  certain  fine  girl  that  he  wants  for  a  wife, 
Nannie  shakes  her  finger  witchingly  at  Biddy,  as  if  to  say, 
"  I  Ve  found  you  out  now."  Mike  does  not  relish  her  ob- 
tuseness,  but  she  seems  so  timid  and  shrinking,  that  he  is 


258  NANNIE     BATES. 

backward  about  speaking  his  sentiments  plainly.  Besides, 
be  bas  a  real  affection  for  her,  and  that  always  brings  a 
certain  reserve  with  it.  What  in  the  world  is  he  to  do  ? 
That  rascally  Pat  has  such  a  decided  advantage  in  seeing 
her  every  day,  and  he  can  see  that  he  has  a  great  deal  of 
influence  over  her.  He  does  not  really  think  she  can  hesi 
tate  between  them,  for  Pat  is  so  rough  in  his  dress,  and 
has  such  red  hair,  and  straight  at  that ;  and  Mike  pushes 
his  fingers  through  the  bright  curls,  and  gives  another  look 
at  himself  in  the  little  mirror  that  hangs  in  his  room  in  the 
stable.  The  self-complacency  melts  away,  as  the  object  be 
comes  dearer,  and  there  is  a  slight  fear  that  some  obstacle 
may  spring  up  between  him  and  his  hopes.  He  '11  risk  but 
he  can  overcome  it,  though,  but  it  would  be  pleasanter  to 
have  the  way  smooth  and  easy.  There 's  Molly  Ryan 
would  give  her  right  hand  for  him,  and  Katie  Doyle  says 
he  's  the  only  boy  she  will  ever  marry,  and  Helen  Dhue 
left  her  last  place  because  the  mistress  would  not  permit 
him  to  stay  later  than  ten  o'clock  when  he  went  to  see  her. 
"  Oh  !  there  were  girls  enough  ready !"  and  he  snapped  his 
fingers  at  the  willing  ones  that  Avere  in  his  mind,  and  dwelt 
yearningly  upon  the  doubtful  and  uncertain.  There 's  noth 
ing  strange  in  that — eveiy  body  does  so. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

TIME  goes  very  fleetly  where  there  is  a  real  and  substan 
tial  joy,  a  happiness  that  mocks  all  outward  changes.  It 
was  thus  in  the  humble  home  of  Nannie  Bates'  mother, 
and  also  in  the  magnificent  abode  of  the  Minturn's,  whose 
hearts  were  untarnished  by  the  constant  in-pouring  of  a 
lavish  opulence. 

Four  years  had  elapsed  since  Nannie  found  shelter  under 
that  pleasant  roof,  and  little  Dora  had  learned  to  cling  to 
her  with  an  unwonted  affection.  Mrs.  Minturn,  too,  had 
such  a  perfect  confidence  in  the  young  nurse,  and  could 
trust  the  child  to  her  care  and  love,  as  if  she  were  a  fond 
sister.  She  knows  that  Dora  holds  the  dead  Winnie's 
place  in  the  warm  heart,  and  that  no  word  of  bitterness 
or  touch  of  anger  can  ever  proceed  from  the  faithful  girl. 
She  has  just  been  watching  them  at  play  upon  the  walk, 
and  has  noticed  Nannie's  patience,  at  some  petulant  act  of 
the  child,  and  she  is  rejoicing  in  the  treasure  she  possesses 
in  Nannie,  when  Mrs.  Bates  requests  to  see  her.  She  has 
come  to  take  Nannie  home.  Mr.  Bond  is  ill  again,  and  the 
girl  is  needed  to  nurse  him.  She  grieves  very  much  that 
she  is  obliged  to  tear  her  from  so  nice  a  home ;  but  the 


260  NANNIE     BATES. 

good  man  is  entitled  to  her  grateful  services,  and  she  has 
no  alternative.  Her  own  hands  are  ready  and  glad  to 
wait  upon  the  sick  man,  but  he  says  "  bring  Nannie  ;"  and 
she  can  not  tell  him  no. 

So  the  nurse  must  go ;  and  she  cries  herself  almost  ill 
by  the  side  of  the  sweet  child,  whose  arm  is  still  around 
her  neck  in  its  unconscious  slumbers.  It  seems  quite  like 
laying  Winnie  away  again,  to  turn  from  the  little  one  that 
had  so  long  been  as  her  own.  There  is  a  duty  in  it,  -how 
ever,  and  she  sees  it  too  plainly  to  try  to  evade  it,  so  she 
disengages  herself  softly  from  the  clinging  arm,  and  kissing 
the  little  placid  face,  goes  down  to  the  kitchen  to  see  Mike, 
who  had  sent  up  expressly  for  her.  She  had  not  the  heart 
to  refuse,  when  he  had  always  been  so  kind  to  her,  and 
perhaps  she  would  not  soon  meet  him  again  to  thank  him, 
for  she  knew  Pat  would  prevent  it  if  he  could.  Mike  pre 
tended  not  to  notice  her  down-cast  looks,  although  he  did 
perceive  that  something  had  occurred  to  sadden  her,  and 
he  had  a  strong  desire  to  comfort  her.  If  it  had  been  one 
of  his  horses  in  trouble,  there  would  have  been  no  difficulty 
in  providing  a  remedy ;  but  Nannie  Bates  was  quite  an 
other  thing ;  and  the  more  he  tried  to  find  a  solace,  the 
more  at  a  loss  was  he.  Biddy  had  gone  out  on  an  errand, 
and  all  the  other  servants  were  absent,  and  he  felt  that  it 
might  be  a  good  time  to  tell  Nannie  who  it  was  that  he 
was  getting  a  house  for  ;  but  the  words  stuck  by  the  way, 
and  it  was  in  vain  to  try  to  force  them  out,  they  would  not 
come  at  all. 


NANNIE    BATES.  261 

Nannie  looked  at  him  in  wonder,  and  almost  in  affright 
as  lie  clutched  at  his  blazing  head  in  the  very  desperation 
of  his  feelings,  and  she  could  not  account  for  the  difference 
in  his  demeanor.  ^  Mike  was  usually  such  a  merry  good 
companion.  Perhaps  it  was  herself  that  scattered  her  sad 
ness  and  dullness  all  about  her ;  or  was  Mike  sick  ?  She 
ventured  to  ask  him  this. 

"  No — yes — no,  he  was  n't  sick ;  he  thought  perhaps  he 
was  n't  so  well  as  he  was ;  but  he  guessed  he  'd  feel  better 
by  'm  by  ;  he  did  n't  know  what  ailed  him  !" 

Nannie  told  him  she  was  to  leave  for  home  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  she  did  not  know  how  long  it  would  be  before 
she  should  see  him  again,  and  she  expressed  her  kind  feel 
ings  toward  him,  and  her  appreciation  of  all  that  he  had 
done  for  her;  and  she  gave. him  a  little  heart  made  of 
bright  silks,  and  stuck  all  round  with  pins,  as  a  parting 
memento.  It  was  not  coquetish  in  her,  for  she  had  too 
much  honest  simplicity  for  that ;  but  Mike  was  embold 
ened  by  it  to  move  his  seat  from  the  other  side  of  the  room 
to  the  end  of  the  table  where  she  sat  weaving  a  cord 
chain,  and  he  had  just  taken  up  the  work  to  look  at  it, 
when  Pat  came  blustering  in.  He  had  seen  Mike  through 
the  window,  and  his  manner  as  he  spoke  to  Nannie,  was 
hurried  and  excited,  and  betrayed  a  tinge  of  anger.  Nan 
nie  was  as  pleasant  as  ever,  though  sad  at  her  approach 
ing  separation  from  Dora,  and  her  gentle  mistress ;  and 
she  tried  to  draw  the  lads  into  an  amicable  conversation. 
It  was  all  in  vain  on  Pat's  side  though ;  and  both  were  so 


262  NANNIE     BATES. 

strange  and  still  that  it  was  growing  very  uncomfortable 
for  them  all,  and  when  Biddy  and  one  of  the  other  servants 
came  in,  Nannie  took  her  work  and  left  the  room  with  a 
faint  good  night  to  both  the  discomfited  youths. 

"  Tell  mother  I  '11  be  home  early,  Pat,"  said  she,  as  she 
passed  him  on  her  way  to  the  door. 

Mike  arose  and  followed  her  into  the  basement  hall,  and 
handed  her  a  parcel,  which  his  timidity  had  thus  far  pre 
vented  his  offering ;  and  he  so  far  overcame  his  bashful- 
ness,  as  to  tell  her  he  should  go  for  her  to  ride  Avith  him 
sometime. 

"  Not  as  you  know  of !"  said  Pat  to  himself,  as  he  over 
heard  the  lad's  plans,  "  it  '11  be  many  a  day  before  Nannie 
Bates  sits  beside  Mike  Dugan,  I'm  thinking!'1  and  he 
rushed  past  the  couple  like  a-madman,  and  hastened  down 
the  street,  never  stopping  until  he  reached  the  attic  room. 

Then  sinking  into  a  chair  by  the  window,  he  gazed  out 
upon  the  bay  whose  waves  murmured  and  foamed  in  the 
freshening  breeze — a  fit  emblem  of  his  agitated  mood  ! 
"It's  well,"  thought  he,  "that  I  didn't  touch  him;  there 
might  have  been  consequences  !  and  'tis  better  that  I  came 
directly  home !" 

There  was  not  much  rest  for  Pat  that  night !  Every 
tune  he  lost  himself;  there  were  visions  of  a  young  girl 
dashing  along  the  streets,  with  Mike  Dugan  holding  the 
reins  of  a  restive  horse,  and  as  he  attempted  to  reach  the 
maiden,  she  would  smile  sweetly  upon  her  companion,  and 
turn  from  him  with  a  contemptuous  expression.  Poor 


NANNIE     BATES.  263 

Pat !  What  a  world  of  useless  sighing  and  trouble ! 
Nannie  sits  meantime  in  her  chamber  working  upon  the 
chain  for  a  surprise  to  thee  on  the  morrow,  and  her  heart's 
honest  love  is  inwoven  with  every  knot ;  until  there  is  not 
a  link  from  beginning  to  end  but  is  fraught  with  holiest 
feelings  and  wishes ! 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

MB.  BOND'S  pale  face  brightens  up  as  Nannie  enters  the 
sick  room,  and  lie  seems  to  rally  again,  but  the  physician 
says  there  is  no  hope  of  his  restoration.  He  has  failed  very 
rapidly.  A  paralytic  stroke  has  deprived  him  of  the  use 
of  his  right  side,  and  it  is  very  evident  that  he  will  not 
make  one  of  the  pleasant  party  in  the  sunny  attic  again. 
It  is  a  great  happiness  to  the  weary  man  to  feel  that  his 
work  upon  earth  is  almost  over.  He  has  done  it  more 
than  cheerfully,  even  gladly !  but  he  is  not  sorry  to  rest 
from  it  now,  there  's  a  great  reward  coming — besides  the 
face  of  his  merciful  and  loving  Father,  there  is  another,  the 
gift  of  that  same  Father  whom  they  both  ever  reverenced, 
that  is  winning  him  with  its  seraphic  expression,  and  he  is 
quite  ready  to  go.  There  are  some  things  to  be  settled, 
though,  while  he  has  the  ability  to  do  it,  and  he  calls  Pat 
and  Nannie  to  him,  and  places  the  girl's  hand  in  the  lad's, 
blessing  them  doubly — first  with  the  fadeless  benison  that 
cometh  from  above,  sometimes  through  the  petitions  of  a 
departing  and  righteous  soul — and  then  with  an  earthly 
dower  from  the  purse  that  had  never  been  closed  to  the 
poor  and  needy,  neither  had  unwisely  nor  imprudently 


NANNIE    BATES.  265 

emptied  itself  upon  them.  There  was  nothing  else  for 
Peter  Bond  to  do  but  to  compose  himself,  and  peacefully 
await  the  parting  moment.  There  were  very  profitable 
hours  spent  beside  the  sick  man's  bed;  hours  that  left 
their  impress  upon  the  after-life  of  Mrs.  Bates  and  her  two 
children,  for  Pat  is  as  Nannie,  now,  the  minister  has  made 
them  man  and  wife  beside  the  couch  of  their  benefactor. 
It  was  by  his  express  wish ;  what  if  they  are  young !  So 
much  the  more  closely  will  the  sacred  bonds  be  interlaced 
until  no  earthly  power  can  loose  them. 

They  demur,  on  account  of  the  unseemliness  of  a  joyous 
ceremony  at  a  time,  to  them,  so  sad  and  trying ;  but  it  is  a 
last  request,  and  they  yield.  It  is  very  hard  to  think  that 
their  kind  friend  is  passing  from  them,  and  that  they  have 
no  power  to  detain  him ;  but  so  it  is,  and  he  falls  asleep 
with  his  closing  eyes  fixed  upon  the  face  on  the  canvas,  and 
the  beloved  name  on  his  lips.  There  are  a  good  many  in 
to  look  upon  him  as  he  lies  there  so  majestically  calm. 
There  is  such  a  sublimity  in  the  noble  countenance  now 
stamped  with  so  sacred  a  seal ! 

There  are  no  relations  there,  for  he  has  outlived  all  of 
kindred  blood ;  but  there  are  others  crowding  around  to 
get  a  parting  glimpse  of  the  kind  face  that  has  cheered 
them  through  many  an  adverse  season,  and  the  family 
of  his  adoption  leave  him  not  until  the  trees  that  shade 
the  maiden's  grave  wave  also  over  his,  and  the  fragrance  of 
the  flowers  which  his  own  hand  hath  planted  on  the  green 
hill-side  afar  off,  breathe  upon  the  tombs  of  both  united. 

12 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

IT  is  a  very  quiet  subdued  sort  of  night.  A  solemn 
stillness  broods  over  the  attic  room  where  the  bereaved  trio 
are  gathered.  It  is  August  again,  and  two  of  the  group 
recall  a  bitter  evening  one  August,  long  ago,  when  the 
pitiless  rain  cast  them  shelterless  into  the  street — and  their 
grateful  hearts  dwell  upon  the  peace  and  comfort  that 
resulted  from  that  one,  apparently  adverse,  providence. 

The  other  member  of  the  little  circle  dwells  upon  the 
single  Mnd  act  that  made  his  subsequent  good  fortune. 
There  is  no  doubt  in  either  mind  of  the  especial  guardian 
ship  of  an  Almighty  power.  Every  little  blessing,  every 
happy  consequence  from  what,  at  first,  seemed  an  evil,  is 
plainly  before  them,  and  the  review  of  the  few  past  years  is 
working  out  a  settled  confidence  in  the  over-ruling  Hand. 

Mrs.  Bates  thinks  of  the  hours  of  heaviness  when,  a  poor 
huckster  woman,  she  trudged  wearily  along  with  her  loaded 
basket,  and  of  the  many  times  she  sought  the  miserable 
cellar  without  a  morsel  of  bread  for  her  famishing  children, 
and  her  heart  clings  fondly  to  the  memory  of  the  real 
friend  who  wrought  so  glorious  a  change  in  her  condition. 
Nannie  goes  back  to  the  pinched  and  pallid  infant  in  the 


*         NANNIE     BATES.  267 

darkened  room,  and  the  days  and  weeks  of  sadness  spent 
away  from  the  light  and  air,  and  she  comes  again  to  the 
happy  home,  and  the  angel  sister,  and  the  lovely  little 
Dora — and  a  tear  moistens  her  eye  as  she  feels  that  the 
kind  heart  that  has  so  long  imparted  to  their  life  its  purest 
pleasures  has  forever  ceased  to  beat.  Pat  is  more  oc 
cupied  with  the  bright  present  than  with  past  ills.  The 
vile  place  where  he  once  groveled  is  erased  from  his  mind 
by  the  hallowed  sanctuary  that  is  now  his  Christian  home, 
and  the  blessed  consciousness  that  Nannie  Bates  is  his,  now 
and  forever,  banishes  every  feeling  of  sadness,  leaving  room 
for  no  regrets  save  the  one  that  Mr.  Bond  is  hidden  from 
them,  to  be  seen  no  more  on  earth. 

Pat  has  acquired  such  an  universal  benevolence  since 
Nannie  is  so  fast  bound  unto  him,  that  even  Mike  Dugan 
is  welcomed  into  their  little  circle  with  a  true  cordiality. 

Mike  is  not  alone,  however,  when  he  comes  to  sit  an 
hour  with  his  old  friend,  Nannie  ;  but  is  accompanied  by 
the  blushing  Helen  Dhue  whom  he  calls  "  my  wife." 


THE    LITTLE    CRIPPLE. 


ARCHIBALD   MACKIE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  OH  !  oh !  mamma,  dear,  is  n't  it  a  pity  he  is  n't  a  rich 
boy  like  Cousin  Willie  ?  then  he  could  have  a  carriage  to 
take  him  about  in,  and  nice  clothes  to  cover  up  the  hump 
on  his  back,  and  a  pretty  cane  with  a  silver  band  every 
little  way,  and  the  people  would  n't  push  him  about  so,  and 
call  him  '  ugly  rascal,'  as  that  great  man  did  just  now." 

Kittie  Fay's  mother  had  noticed  the  sad  object  that  was 
slowly  moving  up  the  street  before  her,  trying  in  vain  to 
keep  his  clumsy  crutch  out  of  the  way  of  the  passers-by, 
and  she  had  heard  the  rude  and  inh'uman  ejaculation  of  the 
nobly-formed  specimen,  whose  inner  soul  must,  she  felt, 
be  far  more  hideous  than  the  stricken  lad's  outward  being, 
since  it  could  so  cruelly  taunt  one  on  whom  the  hand  of 
God  had  been  placed  in  wisdom. 

"  Perhaps  not  '  a  pity,'  Kittie,  darling,"  replied  she,  as 
she  quickened  her  steps  in  order  to  overtake  the  boy. 
"We  will  try  to  find  out  whether  it  is  or  not,  and  you 
shall  some  day  answer  the  question  for  yourself;"  and  she 


2*72  ARCHIBALD     MA  OK  IE. 

laid  her  hand  gently  upon  the  head  of  the  poor  little  crip 
ple,  who  had  halted  that  he  might  get  breath  to  proceed  to 
his  home.  She  was  almost  startled  at  the  sweet  yet  sad 
face  that  was  upturned  to  her  gaze.  There  seemed  such  a 
depth  of  feeling  in  the  blue  eye,  and  such  a  calm  and  hal 
lowed  expression  upon  the  pale  features,  that  she  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  as  if  studying  how  to  address  herself  to  the 
lad.  He  was  not  like  a  common  pauper,  although  the 
scanty  rags  scarcely  covered  his  unsightly  figure,  and  the 
old  hat  served  only  to  keep  the  scorching  sun  from  the  very 
top  of  his  head.  He  had  not  asked  for  money,  and  he 
shrunk  away  from  the  touch  of  the  lady  as  if  there  were 
degradation  in  it,  and  leaned  upon  his  crutch,  with  the 
sweet  yet  reproachful  look  still  fixed  upon  her. 

Perhaps  it  was  a  consciousness  of  the  blessed  sympathy 
that  welled  up  from  her  motherly  heart  that  relaxed  his 
features  into  a  half  smile,  and  moved  him  to  a  half  glad, 
half  sad  emotion ;  perhaps  the  memory  of  as  dear  a  face 
that  once  beamed  upon  him  with  the  same  holy  tenderness, 
stirred  the  long-time  qftiet  depths  within  his  young  bosom, 
and  sent  forth  the  tear  that  lay  upon  his  thin  cheek  !  At 
any  rate,  the  shyness  and  misery  had  vanished,  and  he 
stood  intently  gazing  into  the  face  of  the  lady  until  he 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  misfortunes  in  the  happiness 
of  that  one  sacred  moment.  The  gentle  voice  recalled  him 
to  a  sense  of  his  position,  and  he  sighed  heavily  as  she  said, 
w  Wilt  you  tell  me  where  you  live,  my  son  ?  and  may  I 
sometimes  go  to  see  you  with  my  little  daughter  T' 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE.  2*73 

'••My  sow,  my  son  /"  that  was  too  much  for  the  pent-up 
torrent,  and  the  poor  lad  burst  into  an  agony  of  weeping. 
Years  had  passed  since  so  blessed  a  sound  had  fallen  upon 
his  heart,  and  it  awakened  so  long  a  train  of  fond  recollec 
tions,  henceforth  to  be  only  as  a  departed  dream,  that  he 
could  have  no  power  to  restrain  the  grief  that  struggled  for 
vent.  It  was  n't  the  pity  that  moved  him — oh !  no.  There 
was  never  an  hour  in  the  day,  when  he  was  exposed  to  the 
observation  of  his  fellow-mortals,  that  some  expression  of 
commiseration  did  not  reach  his  sensitive  ear,  and  many  a 
stranger  would  stop  him  with  the  words  of  self-complacent 
condolence  that  would  send  the  hot  blood  over  his  white 
.  forehead,  and  excite  in  him  a  bitter  feeling  of  rebellion 
against  the  Providence  that  ordereth  all  things  aright.  He 
could  distinguish  between  a  passing  glance  of  loathing  and 
contempt,  and  the  heartfelt  look  of  sympathetic  sorrow, 
and  his  isolated  spirit  grasped  at  the  slightest  evidence  of  a 
kindred  feeling,  and  treasured  it  up  as  the  brightest  and 
most  precious  of  gifts. 

Mrs.  Fay  was  troubled  by  the  tears  she  had  so  unwit 
tingly  occasioned,  and  was  about  to  move  quietly  away,  as 
she  saw  no  prospect  of  an  immediate  answer  to  her  ques 
tion,  and  the  people  were  beginning  to  be  attracted  to  the 
spot  by  the  scene,  when  the  boy  pointed  in  the  direction  of 
the  bay,  and  said,  tremulously,  "  I  stay  with  my  grand 
mother  down  there  in  a  small  house  by  the  water,  lady ; 
and  we  shall  both  be  glad  to  see  you  if  you  please  to 
come  ;"  and,  as  if  fearing  another  glance,  he  hobbled  off  as 
12* 


2Y4  AECHIBALD     MACKIE. 

fast  as  his  infirmities  would  allow,  and  was  soon  out  of 
their  sight. 

It  was  hard  to  go  along  day  by  day,  with  his  withered 
limb  and  his  protruding  back,  in  the  midst  of  God's  fair 
creation,  and  feel  himself  an  anomaly  there.  Shut  up  his 
ears  and  soul  as  he  would  against  the  coarse  gibes  that 
were  often  uttered  at  his  expense,  he  could  not  fail  to  per 
ceive  the  strange  difference  between  himself  and  the  crowd 
that  hurried  by  him,  nor  to  take  in  the  wondrous  beauty  . 
that  would  sometimes  flit  before  his  longing  vision.  The 
very  thought  that  in  his  own  person  he  was  denied  the  ex 
cellence  and  majesty  of  a  perfect  development  enhanced  so 
much  the  more  the  value  of  these  perfections  in  his  estima 
tion,  and  helped  him  to  feel  that  of  all  the  objects  in 
the  wide  world,  he  was  the  most  horribly  repulsive. 
He  did  not  mind  the  brutal  sneers  of  the  rabble  that  sur 
rounded  his  grandmother's  hovel  on  this  day,  however,  for 
the  sweet  lady  and  the  beauteous  child  were  constantly 
before  him,  and  the  look  so  like  his  departed  mother's ; 
that  had  penetrated  his  inmost  soul,  exalted  him  far  above 
the  trivialities  of  earth,  and  he  entered  the  door  with 
a  face  so  radiant,  that  his  old  grandmother  cried  out  in~ 
surprise, 

"Why,  Archie,  my  boy,  what's  the  matter  with  ye  now? 
you  look  as  if  the  angels  had  been  with  ye." 

"  And  so  they  have,  grandmother,"  replied  the  boy. 
"  Do  you  remember  what  dear  mother  used  to  tell  us  ? 
That  all  were  God's  angels  that  do  His  will ;  and  what  can 


ARCHIBALD      MACK  IE.  275 

be  His  will  if  not  the  outpouring  of  kindness  and  love 
upon  all  the  world  ?" 

"  It  is  strange,  child  !"  continued  the  old  woman,  raising 
her  hands  in  utter  amazement ;  "  last  night,  and  almost 
all  the  nights  before  it,  the  cloud  has  been  upon  ye, 
and  to-night  I  'in  frightened  by  the  change,"  and  she  sat 
down  with  her  hands  folded  upon  her  lap,  not  daring  to 
turn  from  the  lad  "  for  fear  he  was  crazed,"  as  she  said  to 
herself. 

"  I  know  I  have  been  dark,  and  gloomy,  and  wicked," 
replied  he,  "for  I  was  maddened  by  the  foolish  and 
thoughtless  ;  but  I  learned  to-day  that  there  are  those  who 
can  forget  the  body  and  its  defects,  and  see  the  real  and 
perfect  man  that  is  hidden  beneath.  No,  no,  grandmother, 
I  do  not  any  longer  wish  to  be  otherwise  than  as  God  has 
made  me,  and  I  '11  be  valued  yet  for  something  better  than 
this  shell !"  and  the  boy-man  went  away  to  his  humble 
room,  and  shut  himself  in  to  dream  out  his  future,  while 
his  bewildered  grandparent  wondered  within  herself  what 
it  all  could  mean. 

There  was  little  in  that  carpetless  room,  with  its  narrow 
%cot,  and  its  one  chair,  and  its  small  window  with  the 
cracked  and  puttied  panes,  to  inspire  hopefulness  or  even 
cheerfulness,  if  the  spirit  looks  to  external  objects  for  its 
coloring ;  and  yet  the  one  eye  that  pierced  within  the 
bosom  of  the  solitary  lad,  saw  the  blessed  light  that  was 
beginning  to  dawn  there,  and  the  invisible  hand  that  so 
affectionately  helpeth  us  in  our  necessity,  was  stretched 


276  ARCHIBALD      AIACKIE. 

forth  to  lift  him  out  of  the  despondency  that  had  hitherto 
pressed  him  continually  downward. 

The  sun  was  near  its  setting,  and  the  evening  was 
coming  on  with  its  slow,  midsummer  pace,  and  he  had  sat 
for  one  whole  hour  beside  the  window,  with  bowed  head, 
and  clasped  hands  building  up  a  castle,  which,  perchance 
might  fall ;  perchance  might  resist  the  shock  of  ages,  and 
prove  the  admiration  of  every  beholder.  What  mattered 
it  to  him,  so  long  as  it  served  to  divert  him  from  the  one 
baneful  subject — his  distorted  self — and  place  him  for  the 
time  being  at  least,  in  an  atmosphere  of  glory  and  delight ! 
It -was  better  by  far  than  the  boisterous  mirth  of  the  rude 
boys  whose  riotous  sport  filled  the  open  space  near  his 
dwelling  with  revolting  and  uncouth  sounds;  and  these 
silent  and  intense  yearnings  after  something  higher  and 
better  than  his  present  state,  were  almost  sure  to  result  in 
some  real  and  noble  achievement. 

Not  much  could  be  found  in  any  of  his  surroundings 
to  encourage  his  lofty  aspirations;  what  with  the  coarse 
father  whose  only  mastery  was  of  the  trowel  by  day,  and 
at  night  the  pipe  ;  and  the  simple  grandmother  who  dwelt 
with  wonder,  and  almost  with  alarm  on  every  progressive  * 
step  of  the  boy.  As  he  looked  from  the  small  loop-hole 
that  admitted  the  light  and  air  to  his  humble  room,  there 
was  naught  before  him  save  blocks  of  brick  and  stone, 
with  a  large  square  of  ground  intervening,  which  was  un- 
fenced  and  covered  with  rough  stone,  and  the  refuse  from 
the  adjoining  houses ;  but  that  same  uncultivated  plot  in- 


A  KG  HI  BALD     MA  OKIE.  277 

surcd  to  him  a  wide  expanse  above,  whither  his  longing 
soul  often  turned  for  the  beauty  and  peaee  that  it  met  not 
on  earth.  The  bay  was  shut  off  from  his  view  by  the 
broad  and  high  masonry  which  his  wealthy  neighbors  had 
erected  between  him  and  his  chief  joy,  and  the  only 
glimpse  of  water  visible  to  him  now  was  a  stagnant  pond, 
on  which  dirty  and  ill-mannered  urchins  were  constantly 
sailing  their  boats  of  paper  or  wood.  One  would  have 
thought  that  there  was  nothing  to  attach  him  to  so  barren 
and  unattractive  a  spot,  and  yet  the  greatest  of  all  his 
anxieties  was  lest  amid  the  encroachments  of  an  ambitious 
and  increasing  population,  the  miserable  hut  that  had  be 
come  a  palace  to  him  in  its  hallowed  associations,  would 
fall  under  the  ban  of  some  authoritative  power,  and  himself 
be  cast  forth  into  some  new  place  where  memory  and  affec 
tion  had  no  hold. 

The  extensive  traveler,  whose  mind  has  an  unbounded 
range,  can  scarcely  conceive  of  the  immense  value  of  a 
limited  space  to  his  equally  acquisitive  though  less  favored 
brother.  Thousands,  whose  feet  had  wandered  amid  all 
the  wonders  of  the  earth,  came  back  to  their  every-day 
plodding  life  with  vacant  brains  and  -unexpanded  souls, 
while  Archibald  Mackie,  in  his  non-suggestive  hovel,  gath 
ered  big  thoughts  and  exalted  ideas,  and  grew  majestic  in 
intellect,  even  as  he  was  diminutive  in  his  outward  frame. 
Not  a  stone  upon  the  waste  before  him  but  could  tell  him 
its  thrilling  tale  of  weary  heads  pillowed  thereon,  when  all 
other  resting-places  failed ;  of  scanty  meals  spread  out  upon 


278  ARCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

them  for  lack  of  a  social  board ;  and  of  forlorn  and  for 
saken  ones,  sighing  out  their  bitter  plaints  unto  these 
flinty  auditors  for  want  of  more  attentive  hearers.  Not  a 
block  in  the  noble  structures  all  about  but  could  bear  wit 
ness  to  many  a  sorrowing  soul  whose  drooping  body  was 
sustained  only  by  the  thought  of  the  needy  ones  at  home, 
whose  wants  gave  energy  to  every  effort.  Not  a  child  amid 
the  group  that  frequented  the  common  play-ground  near 
but  spoke  to  him,  either  of  blessed  ties,  and  hallowed 
sympathies,  and  tender  care,  and  watchful  training,  or  of  a 
broken  circle,  and  chilled  feelings,  and  an  utter  destitution 
of  interest  or  culture.  But  these  were  all  wearisome  to 
him  compared  to  the  splendors  that  were  revealed  from  the 
heavenly  creation,  where  his  gaze  was  so  lovingly  fixed  on 
this  evening,  after  meeting  Mrs.  Fay  and  her  little  daughter 
Kittie. 

He  could  remember  his  mother  more  by  the  endearing 
fondness  lavished  upon  him  from  his  birth,  than  by  any 
distinct  impression  of  her  features,  but  this  night  her  face 
took  the  form  of  the  strange  lady's  in  his  imagination,  and 
made  him  sadder  than  ever  as  he  looked  upward  to 
meet  it. 

"  Wherefore,  oh !  wherefore  wert  thou  taken  from  me, 
my  mother !"  said  he,  as  he  bowed  still  lower  before  God, 
as  if  crushed  beneath  the  weight  of  so  mighty  a  sorrow. 
"  How  can  I  be  any  thing  without  thy  gentle  guidance,  and 
with  none  to  help  me  out  of  my  ignorance  and  nothing 
ness  ?" 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE.  2V9 

"  With  God  nothing  is  impossible !"  came  the  answer 
from  his  mother's  Bible,  which  he  had  opened  to  the  place 
that  her  own  hand  had  marked,  and  Archie  lifted  up  his 
heart  and  his  head,  and  went  out  at  the  summons  of  his 
grandmother. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  WHAT  can  I  do  for  you,  my  darling  ?"  said  Mrs.  Lin 
coln,  as  she  bent  over  a  languid  form  that  was  extended 
upon  the  sofa  in  front  of  an  open  door.  The  perfume  of 
rare  flowers  was  wafted  to  them  from  the  cultivated  bor 
ders  without,  and  the  rich  foliage  cast  a  soft  shade 
upon  the  lawn,  shutting  out  the  intensity  of  the  summer 
sun,  and  making  the  air  bland  and  grateful.  Pet  hounds 
were  gamboling  about  the  room,  and  games  and  toys  of 
every  description  were  scattered  all  about  in  the  greatest 
profusion.  A  stuffed  chair,  on  rollers,  was  near  the  boy, 
and  a  garden  chair  stood  upon  the  steps,  ready  for  imme 
diate  use,  and  every  thing  around  seemed  fitted  to  minister 
to  a  diseased  body  and  a  capricious  will.  The  lad  drew 
pettishly  away  from  the  caress  of  his  fond  mother,  as  he 
replied, 

"  It  is  n't  of  any  use  to  do  any  thing  at  all  for  me ; 
there 's  no  happiness,  anyhow !  Why  could  n't  I  have 
been  like  other  boys,  and  not  so  ugly  as  to  have  to  hive 
myself  up  here  all  the  time  for  fear  of  ridicule  ?"  and  he 
threw  his  head  back  upon  the  cool  hair  pillows  and  mur 
mured  something  which  his  mother  did  not  hear,  except- 


ARCHIBALD     MA  OKIE.  281 

ing  that  the  last  word  was  die.  She  had  often  heard 
the  wicked  wish  that  his  life  might  not  be  prolonged ;  but 
how  to  lead  him  from  the  constant  contemplation  of  his 
deformity  so  as  to  make  him  resigned,  if  not  cheerful,  had, 
as  yet,  been  an  unavailing  study. 

The  pampering  the  luxurious  tastes  and  propensities  of 
her  son  had  only  fostered  in  him  a  craving  and  dissatisfied 
spirit,  and  engendered  the  feeling  that  every  thing  was  to 
bend  to  his  demands  however  foolish  or  extravagant.  It 
was  a  pitiable  sight !  that  gentle  and  fond  mother  vainly 
giving  every  energy  to  the  effort  to  soothe  and  interest  her 
son,  while  he,  seemingly  unconscious  of  her  unwearied  ex 
ertions,  turned  petulantly  from  all  her  kindness  and  love, 
and  buried  himself  in  gloom  and  fretfulness.  "  This  thing 
is  intolerably  hot !"  said  he,  as  he  threw  back  the  collar  of 
his  fine  white  linen  tunic,  and  bared  his  throat  to  the 
breeze  that  came  faintly  through  the  open  windows;  "I 
haven't  felt  comfortable  to-day,  and  the  night  promises 
nothing  better."  Mrs.  Lincoln  took  a  broad  fan  from  the 
mantle,  and,  seating  herself  by  the  youth,  pushed-  aside 
the  heavy  hair  from  his  brow  and  quietly  fanned  him, 
while  she  tried  to  draw  his  thoughts  away  from  him 
self,  and  fix  them  upon  something  pleasing  and  instructive ; 
but  the  mood  was  perverse,  and  she  was  about  to  despair 
when  two  little  feet  came  patting  through  the  hall,  and 
Kittie  Fay  burst  suddenly  into  the  room. 

"  Oh !  Willie,"  said  she,  bounding  up  to  the  couch,  and 
kissing  her  cousin  twenty  times  over;  "you've  no  idea 


282  A  R  C  II  I  U  A  I,  D      M  A  C  K  I  E  . 

•what  a  beautiful  home  you  have,  and  what  a  happy  boy 
you  are  !  only  think,  I  Ve  seen  somebody,  just  now,  that 
had  just  such  a  thing  on  his  back  as  you  have ;  but  it 
stuck  almost  through  his  ragged  coat,  and  he  had  old  ugly 
crutches,  and  a  shabby  hat,  and  he  says  he  lives  in  a  small 
house  down  by  the  bay,  and  Willie,  dear,  I  'm  going  with 
mother,  some  day,  to  see  him,  and  you  shall  go  too,  if  you 
will,  maybe  it  will  make  you  sorry  for  him,  so  that  you 
will  give  him  something  pretty  from  this  nice  room !"  and 
the  child's  eyes  wandered  over  the  beautiful  articles  that 
were  strewn  around,  and  her  little  hand  lay  softly  upon  the 
forehead  of  the  boy,  who  looked  upon  her  with  something 
of  pleasure  in  his  usually  dissatisfied  face.  "  Auntie  Lin 
coin,"  continued  she,  leaving  her  cousin  and  leaning  upon 
her  aunt's  knee  ;  "  please  take  me  up  to  the  big  window  in 
the  study,  I  believe  we  can  see  that  little  hut  from  there, 
fer  there  's  an  old  woman  conies  out  the  door  sometimes, 
and  I  guess  that 's  Archie's  grandmother." 

"  What  does  the  child  mean  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Lincoln  of  her 
sister,  who  that  moment  entered  the  room ;  "  she  seems 
quite  in  earnest  about  a  poor  child  whom  she  says  she  met 
in  the  street,  and  who  is  afflicted  somewhat  like  out  Willie. 
Is  it  so,  Mary  ?" 

"  Ah,  yes !  and  such  a  sad,  sweet  face,  I  shall  not  soon 
lose  the  impression.  Such  perfect  patience  and  resignation  ! 
It  made  me  really  forget  his  crooked  frame.  Surely,  dear 
Sarah,  God  makes  us  all  equal,  and  it  is  ourselves  alone 
that  create  a  disparity.  The  calmness  and  Christian  beauty 


ARCHIBALD     M  A  C  K  I  E .  283 

that  shone  out  of  that  poor  boy's  face,  more  than  com 
pensates  for  the  distortion  of  his  frame.  We  will  find 
him  out,  if  you  please,  some  time,  and  I  am  sure  we  shall 
not  repent  it;"  and  Mrs.  Fay  cast  an  intelligent  glance 
toward  her  impatient  nephew,  which  was  understood  and 
appreciated  by  his  mother,  who  gladly  acquiesced  in  the 
proposal  to  seek  out  the  strange  lad. 

Kittie,  meantime  had  glided  quietly  from  the  room,  and 
ensconced  herself  in  a  deep  window  in  the  library,  where 
she  stood  gazing  out  upon  a  small  hut  that  stood  just 
visible  in  the  distance.  The  night  was  bright  and  clear, 
and  by  the  light  of  the  moon  that  illumined  the  vacant 
space  around  the  hovel,  she  was  able  to  distinguish  per 
fectly  every  object.  The  shabby  group  still  gathered  about 
the  stagnant  pond  pushing  out  their  little  crafts,  or  wading 
in  to  guide  them  with  greater  skill,  and  now  and  then  a 
coarse-looking  woman  would  loiter  across  the  space,  and 
with  no  gentle  hand,  pull  her  struggling  offspring  home 
ward.  The  scene  was  a  revolting  one  to  the  child,  and  she 
was»turning  to  leave  the  spot,  with  one  last  look  at  the 
hut,  when  she  perceived  the  old  woman  who  had  so  often 
before  arrested  her  attention,  outside  the  door,  and  Archie 
himself  near  her,  while  a  shaggy-haired  man,  with  a  pipe 
in  his  mouth  sauntered  back  and  forth  in  front  of  the 
house,  occasionally  stopping  to  address  himself  to  one  or 
the  other  of  his  companions.  Kittie  bestowed  but  a  pass 
ing  glance  upon  the  woman  and  the  man,  and  bent  her 
fixed  and  interested  gaze  upon  the  boy,  who  sat  upon  the 


284  ARCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

low  step  with  his  forehead  upon  his  hand,  and  his  sad 
figure  almost  doubled  together.  It  was  but  a  moment, 
however,  before  the  head  was  raised,  and  the  face  turned 
toward  the  heavens,  with  a  look  so  full  of  reverence  and 
earnestness,  that  the  delicate  child  shrunk  away  from  her 
secret  observatory,  with  the  feeling  that  it  was  a  sacrilege 
to  witness  the  poor  lad's  sacred  emotions,  and  with  suffused 
4  eyes  and  a  throbbing  heart  she  left  the  spot  in  order  to  re 
turn  to  her  petted  cousin. 

"  I  've  seen  him,  Willie,"  said  she,  half  lying  across  the 
heavy  pillows  and  putting  her  mouth  close  to  the  youth's 
ear,  "  and  he  seemed  so  sad,  and  yet  so  happy !  You 
would  n't  like  it  at  all  down  in  that  mean  place  with  such 
a  looking  man  and  woman  to  live  with,  would  you, 
Willie  ?" 

"  I  don't  like  any  thing,  Kittie,  mean  or  not  mean,"  mut 
tered  the  boy.  "To  be  sure,"  he  continued,  seeing  her 
surprised  expression,  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  many  com 
forts  and  luxuries  with  which  he  was  surrounded,  "  to  be 
sure  I  live  in  a  great  house  and  have  plenty  of  moneysgand 
books,  and  toys,  and  such  things ;  but  Kittie,  what  if  you 
had  this  great  hump  on  your  back,  so  that  every  body 
would  look  at  you  whenever  you  were  out,  and  pity  and 
loathe  you  !  I  don't  believe  you  would  be  any  happier  than 
I.  I  don't  care,  I  wish  I  was  dead,  anyhow  !"  and  Willie 
buried  his  head  in  the  pillows  while  his  little  cousin  tried 
to  soothe  and  comfort  him.  0 

"  Perhaps  I  should  think  of  it  too  much,  Willie,"  said 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE.  285 

she,  "  and  then  it  would  make  me  fretful  and  wretched ; 
but  mamma  says  if  we  fix  our  minds  on  something  pleas 
ant,  we  shall  forget  the  pains  and  troubles  of  life ;  and  only 
think,  Willie,  this  is  all  the  ill  you  have,  while  Archibald 
Mackie  is  poor,  and  ragged,  and  an  orphan  besides !" 

"Who's  Archibald  Mackie?"  asked  lier  cousin,  "and 
what  have  I  to  do  with  him  ? — 'tis  as  much  as  I  can  do  to 
think  of  myself!" 

"  That 's  the  very  thing,  Willie,"  replied  the  little  rea- 
soner.  "  If  you  would  only  try  to  put  your  mind  on  some 
body  or  something  else,  may  be  you  would  n't  remember 
that  you  are  at  all  unlike  other  people.  I  know  mamma 
and  Auntie  Lincoln  talk  so  about  you  very  often  when 
they  are  together ;  but  I  did  n't  tell  you  about  Archie. 
You  see,  I've  found  out  where  he  lives — in  that  hut  that 
you  can  see  from  the  library  window,  and  he 's  the  boy 
that  we  are  to  visit  some  day,  dear  Willie ;"  and  Kittie 
fondled  her  deformed  cousin,  smoothing  down  the  obtrusive 
hump,  as  if  it  were  a  graceful  and  comely  thing. 


* 


CHAPTER  III. 
\ 

£  ONE  little  bit  of  candle,  and  a  few  old  school-books,  and 
a  mind  swelling  with  big  desires  after  knowledge,  were 
beside  the  small  window,  long  after  the  midnight  hour  had 
struck  and  the  noisy  city  was  hushed  into  a  comparative 
calm.  It  did  not  signify  that  the  bowed  frame  was  wea 
ried  by  a  day  of  physical  toil,  or  that  the  aching  head 
pleaded  for  "tired  nature's  sweet  restorer,"  or  that  a  voice 
from  the  outer  room  came  often  to  his  ear,  with  the  peti 
tion  that  he  would  no  longer  rob  himself  of  his  needful 
rest ;  there  were  new  and  holy  impulses  that  refused  to  be 
put  aside,  and  hungerings  and  thirstings  that  must  be  sat 
isfied,  and  not  until  the  candle  gave  out  its  last  flicker  did 
Archibald  Mackie  spare  himself  the  pittance  of  slum'oer 
that  was  to  prepare  him  for  another  toilsome  day.  Even 
in  his  fitful  and  nervous  sleep  was  he  mentally  solving 
some  abstruse  problem,  or  following  out  some  philosophical 
train  of  reasoning,  while  all  the  time  in  his  dreams  the 
strange  lady  would  urge  him  onward  in  his  tasks,  smiling 
upon  him  with  the  sweet  and  gentle  face.  Forgetful  of  the 
simple  hovel  and  its  uncouth  accompaniments,  unmindful 
of  the  deformed  figure,  and  the  tattered  raiment,  and  the 


ARCHIBALD      MACK.  IE.  28*7 

taunts  and  jeers  of  an  unfeeling  multitude,  the  poor  boy 
reveled  amid  visions  of  knowledge,  and  wisdom,  and 
beauty,  and  love,  as  happy  as  if  an  angel  form  were  rest 
ing  where  the  hideous  body  lay. 

The  morning  beams  struggled  feebly  in  at  the  little  win 
dow  as  Archie  tore  himself  from  his  pillow,  again  to  apply 
himself  to  his  books.  It  was  such  a  wonder  to  him  that 


he  could  for  so  long  a  period  have  cast  them  away  for 
satisfying  pleasures.  The  bright  dawn,  too,  was  so  filled 
with  peace  and  purity,  and  he  had  hitherto  dozed  it  off, 
never  thinking  that  he  had  lost  the  most  precious  part  of 
his  existence.  The  air  came  in  so  refreshingly  upon  his 
brow,  and  the  open  space  had  not  one  revolting  object  to 
distract  him  from  hallowed  and  exalted  thoughts.  The 
only  sound  that  reached  him  was  the  slow  and  measured 
breathing  of  his  grandmother  through  the  thin  partition, 
or  the  nasal  performances  of  his  father  from  the  loft  above. 
Archie's  room  was  the  one  his  mother  had  occupied  ever 
since  his  remembrance,  and  miserable  and  empty  as  it  was, 
to  him  there  was  an  atmosphere  of  the  purest  delight.  All 
other  spots  were  trivial  and  commonplace  compared  to  the 
one  where  the  maternal  blessing  had  been  pronounced,  and 
the  maternal  breath  had  ceased ;  and  hardened  indeed 
must  the  heart  have  been  that  could  resist  his  desire  that 
this  one  sacred  spot  might  be  consecrated  alone  to  him. 
Here  were  the  books  from  which  her  thin  and  tremulous 
fingers  had  pointed  out  to  him  the  rudiments  of  that 
knowledge  which  his  spirit  so  longed  to  compass.  Here 


288  ABCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

were  gathered  the  few  mementoes  of  her  maidenhood — the 
trinkets  from  her  early  schoolmates,  and  the  love-tokens 
from  her  rough  but  kind  and  affectionate  husband — all 
disposed  by  her  own  hand,  within  the  tiny  cupboard,  that 
came  to  be  a  sealed  place  to  every  eye  but  that  of  the  child, 
whose  mature  mind  could  take  in  all  their  value.  These 
a|one,  of  all  the  objects  about  him,  linked  him  to  the  dead 
lather.  To  be  sure  his  fond  old  grandmother  doted  on 
the  boy  in  her  childish  and  simple  way,  and  his  father  gave 
him^all  the  love  of  which  his  nature  was  capable,  but  there 
seemed  to  him  no  connection  between  the  spiritual  image 
that  so  continually  hovered  about  his  pathway,  and  the 
coarse  and  material  beings  who  seemed  only  to  live  for  the 
things  that  give  life  and  support  to  the  body ;  and  his  high 
communings  and  yearnings  found  no  sympathy  in  either 
of  his  well-meaning  but  obtuse  relatives.  To  look  upon 
the  lad's  occasional  bursts  of  enthusiasm  with  a  wonderino- 

O 

and  frightened  stare,  was  all  that  the  poor  old  woman  could 
do  to  show  that  she  even  observed  them,  and  as  for  the 
father,  it  was  quite  impossible  to  beguile  him  from  his  old 
and  commonplace  notions.  The  idea  of  listening  to  read 
ing,  or  to  the  explanation  of  any  of  the  mysteries  of  science, 
formed  no  part  of  his  mental  machinery. 

"Book  larnin'll  do  well  enough  for  you,  Archie,  my 
boy,"  he  would  say;  "but  this  thing,"  holding  up  his 
trowel  in  a  fond  sort  of  way,  "  has  found  me  a  good  living 
for  many  a  year,  and  as  for  amusement,  my  pipe  keeps  my 
mind  off  the  trouble,  sp  don't  pester  yourself  trying  to  turn 


AKCHIBALD     MACKIE.  289 

me  into  a  new  way,  child,  the  old  one  suits  me  better !" 
It  was  not  well  for  the  imaginative  and  sickly  youth  to  be 
left  to  his  own  wild  and  untutored  fancies ;  but  there  was 
no  help  for  it  now,  and  he  gave  himself  up  to  his  studies 
and  his  dreams,  looking  no  longer  for  sympathy  from  those 
around  him,  but  gathering  inward  strength  and  self- 
dependence  with  every  struggle  for  the  mastery  over  his 
sensitive  and  morbid  nature. 

Little,  however,  as  there  was  in  Archie's  home  to  aid  him 
in  his  efforts  after  a  higher  attainment,  he  was  not  without 
a  hidden  but  blessed  influence.  His  mother's  grave  Avas 
just  without  the  city,  in  the  beautiful  cemetery,  and 
thither  his  weary  feet  often  wandered  when  he  was  spared 
from  his  labor  early  enough,  or  on  the  precious  Sunday, 
the  day  of  days,  especially  to  the  poor.  Glorious  monu 
ments  of  the  most  elaborate  workmanship,  temples,  and 
majestic  columns,  and  angel  figures,  were  all  nothing  to 
Archie  compared  to  the  simple  mound  that  told  him  of  an 
undying  love  for  the  lonely  and  crippled  one.  No  marble 
arose  there  in  wonderful  grace  and  beauty,  no  reclining 
seraph  imaged  the  departed  saint ;  but  low  down,  beneath 
the  green  turf  was  the  heart  that  leaped  at  the  advent  of 
her  first-born  son,  and  the  eye  that  overlooked  the  blemish 
that  all  other  eyes  seemed  to  dwell  upon,  and  the  hand  that 
was  laid  upon  his  head  in  the  last  sad  moment.  Naught 
else  was  needed  to  the  few  souls  that  cared  for  her  mem 
ory.  Was  she  not  ever  before  them  in  the  garb  of  purity 
and  love !  and  yet  among  the  boy's  visions  was  a  sacred 

13  • 


290  ARCHIBALD      MACK  IE. 

spot  remote  from  the  common  ground  where  necessity  had 
placed  his  idolized  parent,  and  a  slab  that  should  speak  of 
a  son's  gratitude,  and  shrubs  and  flowers  around  to  breathe 
their  sweet  odor  above  the  lowly  bed.  So  long  as  his 
mother's  memory  was  kept  fresh  and  green  within  him 
Archibald  MacMe  was  not  cut  off  wholly  from  the  com 
panionship  and  sympathy  that  is  a  need  of  every  nature. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  afternoon  had  been  uncommonly  sultry  and  op 
pressive,  so  that  even  the  plants  and  trees  appeared  to 
droop  and  wither,  and  all  about  the  city  were  hot  and  tired 
people  lagging  homeward  as  if  every  energy  were  utterly 
exhausted.  Archie  had  been  working  unusually  hard,  so 
that  the  old  pain  had  seized  his  back  again,  making  him 
miserably  despondent  lest  he  should  be  wholly  crippled, 
and  thrown  quite  broken  and  helpless  upon  his  struggling 
relatives,  and  he  was  panting  toward  the  quarter  of  the  city 
where  his  shelter  was,  with  slow  and  weary  steps,  when 
suddenly,  as  he  passed  a  bright  saloon,  he  heard  a  joy 
ous  cry  of  "  Oh  !  mamma,  just  look,  there  he  is  again  !"  and 
before  he  could  get  away,  the  pleasant  face  of  the  lady  was 
bent  upon  him  from  the  window  of  the  carriage  that  stood 
before  the  door,  and  she  motioned  him  to  her. 

Perhaps  he  would  have  heeded  her  summons  if  he  had 
not  seen  an  impatient  and  scornful  countenance  peeping 
curiously  through  the  side-curtain.  May  be  it  was  but  his 
native  pride  that  induced  him  to  press  onward  with  only  a 
quiet  and  polite  recognition  of  her  notice. 

"  There,  Willie,  you  Ve  driven  him  away,"  said  Kittie, 


292  ARCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

frowning  upon  her  cousin  reproachfully.  "  How  could  you 
look  so  cross  at  him  when  you  knew  mamma  wanted  him 
to  come  up  and  speak  to  us?  Well,  I  shall  go  to  see 
him,  whatever  you  do,  that 's  certain,"  continued  she,  after 
a  short  pause,  as  the  lad  leaned  back  upon  his  seat  with 
out  deigning  a  reply.  Then  taking  up  the  thin  hand  that 
lay  upon  his  knee,  she  kissed  it  affectionately  as  if  to  atone 
for  the  momentary  pique  against  him ;  but  her  eyes  fol 
lowed  the  poor  boy  until  he  was  no  longer  visible  among 
the  crowd,  and  she  was  thinking  of  the  pitiful  expression, 
and  contrasting  it  with  the  trustful,  hopeful  one  that  she 
had  last  seen  from  the  lonely  library,  and  wondering  what 
could  make  the  difference.  And  she  cared  little  for  the 
drive,  although  they  passed  through  beautiful  streets  and 
along  her  favorite  haunts,  by  the  bay,  and  out  on  the 
avenues  and  quite  beyond  the  noise  and  dust  of  the  city, 
in  the  midst  of  God's  own  fair  and  beautiful  nature.  The 
mother  noticed  the  child's  abstraction,  and  it  saddened  her 
to  think  of  the  shadow  that  comes  over  the  brightness  of 
one's  early  being,  shutting  out  the  loveliness  and  the  grace 
even  from  the  youngest  heart. 

It  was  hard  to  feel  that  an  unsightly  hump,  and  a  woe- 

• 

begone  face  were  occupying  the  place  that  had  hitherto 
been  filled  with  images  of  joy  and  gladness  ;*but  Mrs.  Lin 
coln  was  a  wise  mother,  and  would  not  try  to  divert  her 
child's  mind  from  the  salutary  lesson  which  the  very 
shadow  itself  ever  brings ;  so  they  moved  on  with  the  un 
broken  silence,  save  when  Willie  gave  utterance  to  some 


ARCHIBALD    MACKIE.  293 

pettish  feeling,  and  then  little  Kittie  would  look  at  him 
with  a  deeper  pity  than  poor  Archie  had  ever  called  forth. 

They  were  alone  in  the  evening,  after  their  return 
from  their  drive,  and  Willie  was  sitting  in  his  easy-chair 
by  the  door,  while  his  young  cousin  was  upon  the  sill  at 
his  feet  apparently  absorbed  in  some  intense  subject,  for 
lier  pet  kitten  was  making  sad  havoc  with  the  neat  straw 
hat  that  had  fallen  from  her  head,  and  lay  unnoticed  upon 
the  step,  the  ribbons  already  crumpled  and  wet  by  Miss 
Pussy's  chewing ;  and  "Willie  had  twice  spoken  to  her 
without  an  answer.  It  was  rather  too  much  for  the  im 
petuous  youth  to  bear,  and  when  he  spoke  again  it  was 
with  a  tinge  of  bitterness. 

"  I  thought  mother  sent  for  you  here  to  amuse  me, 
Kittie,  and  not  to  waste  all  your  pity  upon  a  poor  beggar 
whom  you  happened  to  meet  in  the  street.  I  'm  sure  I 
might  as  well  be  without  you,  as  to  have  you  as  dull  and 
silent  as  you  have  been  since  you  saw  that  miserable  boy. 
Well,  haven't  you  any  thing  to  say  yet,"  continued  he,  as  she 
fixed  her  wondering  and  sorrowful  eyes  upon  his  face.  "It's 
enough  to  tire  any  body's  patience  to  speak,  and  speak, 
and  speak,  and  no  one  to  answer  you  but  the  echo  of  your 
own  voice.  That 's  the  way  it 's  always  been ;  but  I  might 
have  known  it.  Nobody  cares  for  a  deformed  boy !"  and 
the  lad  threw  the  bunch  of  flowers  that  his  cousin  had  just 
before  arranged  for  him,  out  the  door  and  wheeled  his 
chair  further  back,  although  he  was  not  so  far  removed  as 
to  lose  the  reproachful  glance  of  Kittie. 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

"Ob,  Willie!"  said  she,  "if  you  had  only  notjced  poor 
Archie,  as  I  did,  and  seen  how  troubled  and  worn  he 
looked,  and  how  the  big  drops  stood  all  over  his  forehead, 
as  he  moved  on  with  one  hand  to  his  back,  you  would  n't 
wonder  that  I  don't  want  to  talk  and  play  to-night !  It 
makes  me  so  sorry  because  I  can't  help  it  any,  and  you 
know  he  's  poor  and  has  to  work,  when  may  be  he 's  too 
sick  and  lame  to  do  any  thing." 

"  Why  don't  you  pity  me,  Kittie  ?  Here  I  have  to  sit, 
day  after  day,  moping  in  this  dull  old  house ;  I  can't  go 
any  where,  and  I  can't  do  any  thing  as  other  boys  do,  and 
there  don't  any  body  care,  either,  but  you  all  seem  as  merry 
and  happy  as  if  I  were  the  most  favored  person  in  the 
world.  You  need  n't  look  at  me  with  your  great  staring 
eyes,  as  if  I  were  the  wickedest  boy  you  ever  saw ;  per 
haps  you  'd  be  better  if  you  were  in  my  place ;  but  I  'm 
not  bad  enough  to  wish  you  there,  much  as  I  wish  to  cast 
off  this  loathsome  body  and  find  myself  upright  and  per 
fect.  Come,  come,  Kittie,  we  won't  quarrel  any  more ;  I 
did  n't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,"  said  he,  as  the  tears 
rolled  down  the  child's  face  and  fell  upon  her  white  dress. 
"  You  must  n't  mind  when  I  am  cross,  but  must  love  me, 
whatever  any  body  else  does.  I  don't  like  to  feel  as  I  do 
so-  often ;  but  how  can  I  help  it  ?  Every  thing  goes  wrong 
with  me.  I  thought  when  you  came  I  'd  got  somebody  " 
that  would  n't  get  tired  of  me,  and  it  frets  me  to  see  you 
thinking  all  the  time  of  that  beggar-boy." 

"I  do  indeed  love  you,  dear  Willie,"  replied  his  little 

. 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE.  295 

cousin,  rising,  and  clasping  him  around  the  neck ;  "  but  I 
wish  poor  Archie  had  time  to  lie  down  on  a  soft  couch 
like  yours,  and  had  a  kind  mother  to  kiss  him,  and  fan 
him,  and  soothe  away  his  pain,  as  you  have.  I  'm  afraid 
to  hear  you  talk  pettishly,  when  you  have  so  many  com 
forts,  for  mamma  says  'God  sometimes  takes  away  our 
good  things  if  we  do  not  know  how  to  prize  them  and  be 
thankful  for  them,'"  and  the  child  ran  to  her  mother, 
whose  voice  she  heard  in  the  hall. 

It  was  very  well  to  leave  the  murmuring  boy  alone  just 
then,  for  her  little  prattle  was  not  without  its  effect  upon 
her  cousin,  who  began  to  think  that  perhaps  there  were 
others  in  the  world  as  miserably  off  as  himself. 

"  I  '11  go  with  Kittie  to  see  the  poor  lad,  any  way,"  solil 
oquized  he.  "  It  won't  do  me  any  harm,  and  may  be  it 
will  amuse  me  a  little  while." 

Still  selfish,  poor  youth  !  If  it  had  only  been,  "  May  be 
it  will  amuse  him  a  little'  while,"  then  the  obtrusive  hump 
would  n't  be  so  heavy,  and  the  murmuring,  repining  spirit 
would  become  joyous  and  grateful.  But  we  will  have  pa 
tience  with  thee  for  a  while  yet.  It  is  so  easy,  with  this 
healthy,  robust  frame,  to  reproach  the  diseased  and  fretful 
one.  We  will  try  to  be  lenient  toward  thy  complainings* 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  sun  had  been  up  for  a  long  time,  and  the  old  grand 
mother  had  the  breakfast  upon  the  table.  She  had  n't 
called  Archie,  for  she  knew  the  boy's  habits,  and  supposed 
he  was  busy  with  his  books  as  usual,  so  she  helped  her  son 
to  his  hasty  meal,  and  saw  him  and  his  trowel  and  pipe  a 
long  distance  without  the  door  before  she  ventured  to  dis 
turb  her  grandchild's  quiet.  Thump,  thump,  thump,  upon 
the  bedroom  wall,  and  not  an  answering  sound,  yet,  after 
a  moment,  there  seemed  to  be  a  stir,  and  some  words  that 
were  not  intelligible  to  her  obtuse  ear.  She  did  n't  wait 
much  longer,  but  lifted  the  latch  and  entered  his  room. 

What  ails  the  boy  ?  His  eyes  are  jvild  and  fierce,  and 
his  figure  is  tossed  from  side  to  side  of  the  narrow  bed, 
while  he  mutters  of  his  mother,  and  of  a  sweet  lady,  and 
a  gentle  child  ;  and  then  he  presses  a  parched  hand  to  his 
h/ow,  and  begs  them  not  to  heap  up  the  hot  coals  there, 
.  but  to  bring  him  ice,  ice ;  and  then  he  clinches  his  fist  and 
strikes  at  the  old  woman  who  has  approached  him  to  try 
to  calm  him,  but  she  has  no  power  over  his  ravings,  and 
she  perceives  that  he  has  a  terrible  fever ;  and  then  she 
remembers  that  he  would  go  supperless  to  bed  the  night 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE.  297 

before,  and  that  he  looked  paler  and  more  weary  than 
usual,  and  she  chides  herself  for  not  coming-  earlier  to  see 
if  he  was  ill.  She  wishes  some  body  would  come ;  it 
would  n't  do  to  leave  him  alone,  and  what  can  she  do  by 
*  herself?  There 's  a  knock  at  the  outer  door,  she  thinks — no ; 
it  is  only  a  stray  goat  that  frequents  that  quarter  of  the  city, 
and  has  come  for  her  accustomed  offering  of  food.  She 
has  n't  any  heart  to  stop  now,  and  the  disappointed  animal 
goes  off  again  to  try  her  next  neighbor.  There  's  no  milk 
man,  nor  baker,  nor  butcher's  boy,  nor  groceT  to  come  to 
her,  for  they  do  all  their  own  purchasing  at  the  small  shop 
near,  and  so  the  morning  wears  on,  and  the  lad  grows  more 
delirious,  and  talks  about  coffins,  and  death,  and  horrible 
sights,  and  just  as  his  grandmother,  too  frightened  to  neg 
lect  the  case  longer,  locks  the  door  of  his  room,  and  gets 
her  bonnet  on  to  find  a  doctor,  a  lady  gives  a  slight  rap 
and  enters  the  outer  door,  followed  by  a  young  girl.  She 
hears  the  delirious  tones,  and  immediately  knows  that  the 
boy  is  ill,  and  the  old  woman  gladly  accepts  her  kind  offer 
to  sit  by  him  until  she  returns  with  the  physician,  though 
she  says  it  is  too  much  for  a  lady  to  consent  to,  and  she  is 
fearful  the  boy  will  do  her  some  harm  in  his  raving  mood. 

"Don't  be  troubled,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln,  "I'm  not 
afraid ;"  and  she  turned  the  key,  and  was  soon  beside  the 
sufferer  with  her  delicate  hand  upon  his  brow,  and  her  ten 
der  words  soothing  his  horrors  all  away.  It  was  wonderful 
what  a  charm  there  was  in  the  gentle  eye  that  was  fixed 
upon  him,  and  the  soft  touch  that  cooled  the  burning  fore- 
13* 


298  AECHIBALD     MACKIE. 

head !  Quite  an  hour  she  sat  in  the  same  position,  breath 
ing  out  tones  that  only  a  mother  ever  learns,  and  the  lad 
lay  quiet  and  calm,  looking  up  into  her  face  with  a 
pleased  and  satisfied  expression,  save  when  she  moved  as 
if  to  leave  him  for  a  moment,  the  paroxysm  would  seize* 
him  again.  The  physician  came,  and  pronounced  the 
disease  brain-fever  brought  on  by  over-fatigue  and  exertion, 
and  Kittie  stood  with  her  pitiful  glance  fastened  upon  him, 
and  she  knew  then  why  he  was  so  distressed  the  day 
before  when  he  passed  them  as  they  sat  in  the  carnage, 
and  why  the  resignation  and  trust  had  gone. 

He  did  not  know  her  now,  and  her  mother  sent  her 
home  with  the  promise  that  she  should  come  often,  if  he 
got  better  and  would  like  to  see  her;  but  she  remained 
day  after  day  nursing  him  as  his  own  mother  would  have 
done,  until  the  mind  was  clear  again,  and  he  was  conscious 
of  her  grateful  presence.  All  through  the  long  period  of 
his  delirium  he  had  fancied  that  his  mother's  spirit  was 
beside  him  ministering  to  his  wants,  and  whenever  she 
went  from  his  sight,  for  a  moment,  he  kept  up  a  lamentable 
moaning  until  she  was  there  again,  and  then  he  would  lay 
for  hours  without  even  a  murmur  or  a  sound. 

No  wonder  she  felt  a  mysterious  interest  in  the  boy  as 
he  grew  stronger,  and  would  so  often  bend  her  steps  to  his 
humble  dwelling  to  read  or  talk  to  him.  And  Kittie,  too, 
desired  no  better  reward  for  good  behavior  than  to  spend 
an  hour  at  poor  Archibald  Mackie's.  They  had  learned 
all  about  his  history  now,  and  he  had  told  Mrs.  Lincoln 


ARCHIBALD    MA  OKIE.  299 

how  much  she  had  reminded  him  of  the  dead  mother,  and 
what  a  help  her  sympathy  had  been  to  him  in  his  studies, 
and  they  had  spoken  of  Willie  and  his  troubles,  and  Archie 
forgot  the  sour  face  that  had  sent  him  away  from  the  car 
riage,  and  thought  only  of  the  boy's  crippled  fate,  so  like 
his  own.  Like,  and  yet  unlike — to  the  casual  observer 
there  was  a  vast  difference  between  the  forlorn,  poverty- 
stricken,  ragged  Archie,  and  the  petted,  and  pampered,  and 
richly-clad  Willie ;  but  to  the  eye  of  the  unwearied  watcher 
who  had  witnessed  the  patience  and  the  goodness  of  the 
sick  lad,  and  contrasted  it  with  the  petulance  and  sinfulness 
of  her  nephew,  the  gifts  of  God  were  not  unequally  dis 
tributed. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IT  was  astonishing  how  many  friends  Aichie  had  among 
the  poor — there  was  Mahan  Doughty  coming  every  day 
with  her  apron  full  of  wild  flowers  which  she  had  wandered 
a  long  way  to  find,  and  which  she  carefully  disposed  in  the 
little  pewter  mug  that  stood  on  the  table  beside  the 
lad's  bed — and  there  was  old  Patrick  Marsh,  night  and 
morning,  with  a  fresh  cup  of  milk  from  his  one  precious 
goat — and  Sally  Bunt  with  the  only  egg  her  hen-house 
could  produce,  and  a  host  of  young  voices  often  at  the  door 
*  with  a  hushed  tone  of  inquiry  concerning  the  invalid.  Oh ! 
it  isn't  wealth  that  brings  the  greatest  and  purest  joy! 
Mrs.  Fay  felt  that  as  she  saw  the  blessings  of  an  unbought 
interest  pouring  in  upon  the  humble  inmate  of  the  small 
hovel,  and  she  adored  more  than  ever  the  justice  of  the 
Almighty  giver  who  dispenseth  with  such  perfect  measure 
to  every  living  soul. 

The  lad  loved  the  flowers,  and  dwelt  upon  their  beauty 
as  he  lay  languidly  upon  his  bed,  and  they  were  full  of 
happy  teachings  to  him — better,  far  better  than  many  a 
more  boisterous  exhorter.  He  couldn't  look  upon  their 
wonderous  and  perfect  mechanism  with  a  cold  or  unbeliev- 


ARCHIBALD     MACK  IE.  301 

ing  heart ;  but  his  best  and  wannest  affections  went  upward 
with  their  sweet  odor,  and  were  acceptable  to  Him  who  had 
tipped  every  petal  with  a  heavenly  message. 

Archie  also  loved  the  rough  visage  of  old  Patrick,  and 
was  convinced  of  the  value  of  a  kind  and  generous  heart, 
by  the  simple  offering  that  was  so  grateful  to  his  enfeebled 
state.  Patrick  had  always  looked  upon  the  boy  with  a 
pride  not  unmixed  with  awe.  He  could  discern  the  symp 
toms  of  a  higher  destiny  awaiting  the  lad,  and  had  always 
treated  him  with  a  certain  degree  of  reverence  and  respect, 
and  now  that  the  youth  was  so  helpless  and  weak,  the 
strong  arm  of  the  true  old  man  lifted  him  back  and  forth, 
and  held  him  fondly  upon  his  breast  as  if  he  were  his  own 
little  child,  and  so  there  grew  an  enduring  sympathy  be 
tween  them  that  was  to  stay  both  the  tottering  and  the 
crippled. 

Sally  Bunt,  too,  standing  before  the  sick  boy  with  the 
tempting  gift  in  one  hand,  and  a  finger  of  the  other  bash- 
full)'  thrust  into  her  wee  mouth,  was  an  object  of  some 
affection  to  Archie,  who  would  call  the  little  girl  up  to 
him,  and  smooth  down  her  frizzled  hair  with  his  tremulous 
hand,  and  thank  her  so  warmly  for  the  one  egg,  that  she 
would  go  away  with  as  much  joy  in  her  heart  as  if  she 
were  a  queen,  and  had  just  tendered  her  costly  offerings, 
and  concluded  her  interview  with  the  wisest  man. 

Nor  were  the  young  children  who  gathered  around  the 
house  for  news  of  the  convalescent,  forgotten  or  unheeded ; 
but  the  pale  face  would  appear  at  the  small  window  to 


302  ARCHIBALD    MAORI  E. 

greet  them,  and  the  feeble  voice  would  speak  out  its  sincere 
gratitude.  The  hours  were  very  lonely  after  he  began  to 
get  well,  yet  was  confined*  to  his  close  room  ;  and  Archie 
almost  felt  as  if  he  could  be  always  so  very,  very  ill,  if  it 
would  insure  to  him  the  presence  of  the  gentle  lady,  who 
came  now  but  an  hour  a  day  to  see  him. 

The  old  grandmother  was  obliged  to  keep  closely  to  her 
work  now  that  the  boy  was  disabled,  and  the  father  had 
only  the  early  dawn  and  the  late  evening  to  spend  in  the 
sick-room  ;  but  these  were  pleasant  seasons  to  his  child,  for 
they  developed  the  good  and  the  tender  in  the  man's 
nature,  and  diminished  the  distance  between  the  two,  so 
that  the  son  could  again  feel  the  link  that  bound  his  father 
to  the  departed. 

They  could  now  talk  together  of  his  mother  and  look 
over  the  little  mementoes  that  were  so  treasured,  and  both 
were  happier  for  the  hallowed  communion. 

"  You  '11  lay  me  by  her  when  I  'm  gone,  lad,  won't  you  ?" 
said  the  man.  "  I  could  n't  sleep  elsewhere,  and  I  Ve  faith 
to  think  you  '11  live  to  see  me  buried,  much  as  we  all 
watched  for  your  own  last  breath." 

The  boy  did  n't  like  to  talk  of  death  now.  He  had 
passed  through  the  danger,  and  had  a  motive  in  wishing 
to  live.  There  was  a  great  deal  to  be  done — a  mighty 
work,  but  he  felt  strong  to  do  it — and  when  he  was  alone 
he  hobbled  across  the  room,  and  unlocked  a  small  chest 
and  found  a  portfolio  that  had  been  his  mother's,  and  every 
day  the  white  pages  grew  black  with  marks  ;  but  bright 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE.  303 

and  radiant  with  the  overflowing  treasures  of  a  rich  and 
gifted  mind.  Like  a  miser  he  hid  the  product,  down, 
down,  amid  heaps  of  household  rubbish  in  an  uncared  for 
nook  by  the  chimney,  and  only  drew  it  forth  to  add  to  its 
value  when  there  was  no  witness  that  could  betray  him. 
It  was  a  worthless-looking  thing,  that  old  leather  port 
folio,  with  the  wear  and  tear  of  years  upon  it ;  but  the  boy 
felt  a  sort  of  inward  consciousness  that  the  gloomy  and 
dismal  hiding-place  beneath  the  refuse  truck  was  not  its 
irrevocable  destiny ;  and  this  feeling  buoyed  him  up  when 
he  was  inclined  to  despondency  or  sadness,  and  kept  him 
busy  with  his  new  labor  during  many  an  otherwise  weary 
and  painful  hour.  And  so  his  days  passed  on  until  the 
pain  and  the  lassitude  left  him,  and  he  could  again  go  forth 
to  work  amid  the  erect  and  strong,  with  his  own  frame 
bent  still  lower  by  his  long  sad  illness. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

"  COUSIN  WILLIE,  I  have  not  seen  Mm  for  several  days, 
and  I  do  want  to  go  so  much !" — besides,  pleaded  the  little 
girl,  "  you  promised  to  walk  there  with  me  some  day,  long 
ago,  and  you  have  never  been  there  yet." 

The  cousins  were  standing  together  on  the  green  slope, 
whence  they  could  see  the  poor  boy's  home,  and  Kittie's 
attention  had  been  particularly  drawn  to  the  spot  by  a 
crowd  of  laborers  that  were  gathered  around  the  house 
seemingly  engaged  in  some  exciting  subject,  for  they 
were  gesticulating  violently,  while  the  old  woman  stood 
without  the  group  wringing  her  hands,  and  now  and  then 
applying  her  apron  to  her  face  with  a  passive  sort  of 
grief. 

"  I  do  believe  that  Mr.  King,  who  bought  so  much  land 
here  last  week,  means  to  pull  down  Archie's  cottage  !"  ex 
claimed  Kittie,  looking  earnestly  at  the  men,  whose  motions 
she  had  been  anxiously  watching  for  some  time.  "  I  heard 
mamma  say  she  was  afraid  they  would  have  to  leave,  and 
that  would  almost  kill  Archie.  Will  you  go  with  me, 
Willie  ?  I  must  know  about  it.  Only  think !  to  have  to 
go  away  from  the  place  where  he  was  born,  and,  may  be, 


ARCHIBALD     MA  OKIE.  305 

live  in  a  room  with  ever  so  many  families,  just  like  littl^ 
Peter  Bell  'r  it  is  really  dreadful !"  and  the  child  moved 
toward  the  gate,  with  her  hat  in  her  hand,  and  her  hair 
waving  in  the  fresh  breeze,  unconscious  of  every  thing  save 
that  something  threatened  Archie,  in  whose  interests  she 
was  now  wholly  absorbed. 

"  It 's  no  use ;  you  must  n't  go  there  now,  Kittie,"  said 
her  cousin,  who  had,  thus  far,  been  but  a  silent  witness  of 
the  scene  upon  the  vacant  space,  and  of  the  child's  un 
wonted  emotion.  "  What  good  do  you  think  a  little  girl 
like  you  could  do  among  so  many  grown  men  ?  I  know 
they  mean  to  pull  down  the  house,  for  old  Patrick  Marsh 
came  to  father  this  morning  to  see  if  he  would  let  Archie 
live  in  the  little  place  of  ours,  just  down  here  by  the  vege 
table-garden.  He  said  Archie  was  not  able  to  be  confined 
to  a  store,  and  that  he  would  be  just  the  hand  to  keep  the 
garden  nice." 

"  Oh  !  that  will  be  grand !"  replied  Kittie,  clapping  her 
hands  and  dancing  for  joy.  "  I  'm  almost  glad  they  will 
take  it  down — only  he  likes  it  so,  living  there,  and  it  will 
take  a  long  time  to  get  used  to  another  place,"  added  she 
musing  thoughtfully,  with  her  finger  upon  her  lip.  "  Bui 
it 's  greener,  here,  Willie,"  she  continued,  bounding  along 
until  she  stood  beside  the  spot  in  question ;  "  and  then  we 
can  come  often  to  see  him,  you  know.  Won't  it  be  nice  ? 
Oh  !  I  'm  so  happy  !" 

"Not  so  fast,  Kittie;  father  left  it  to  me  altogether. 
He  knew  it  would  be  unpleasant  to  have  that  deformed  boy 


306  ARCHIBALD     MAORI  E. 

always  before  me,  and  so  he  would  give  no  answer  to  old 
Patrick  without  my  consent ;  and  I  don't  believe  I  shall 
say  yes  very  soon.  I  'm  sorry  Jim  went  away,  for  I  loved 
to  come  down  here  sometimes  while  he  had  the  place  ;  he 
always  had  something  nice  to  say  to  me," 

"  And  yet  Jim  was  wicked,  dear  Willie,  and  used  to  beat 
Brindle,  and  kick  the  horses  every  day ;  and  I  heard  him 
call  you  names  to  Bridget  once,  when  you  told  him  to 
wheel  you  about  the  garden.  To  be  sure  he  did  n't  know 
I  was  near ;  but  if  he  had  really  liked  you,  he  would  have 
felt  the  same  and  acted  the  same  every  where.  I  hope 
you  '11  let  Archie  come,  he  's  so  gentle  and  kind,  and  it 
will  be  a  good  deed  on  your  part,  too,  Willie." 

"  I  don't  know,"  muttered  the  lad  ;  "  it 's  bad  enough  to 
have  one  cripple  about  without  multiplying  them.  People 
would  call  this  the  hospital,  or  the  asylum  for  the  de 
formed,  if  they  saw  many  such  objects  around  here." 

"  Never  mind  people,  Willie  ;  it 's  better  to  feel  that  you 
are  doing  good  than  to  be  guided  by  what  people  would 
say  and  what  people  would  think.  Mamma  teaches  me  to 
go  by  that  rule,  and  I  'm  sure  I  'm  a  great  deal  happier  for 
it.  I  never  think  now  of  any  body  when  I  want  to  do  any 
thing,  but  go  right  on  and  do  it,  if  I  think  it  is  best.  Only 
let  Archie  come,  and  you  '11  see  what  a  difference  it  will 
make  to  your  life.  He  is  a  good  boy,  and  he  knows  a  great 
deal,  too ;  more  than  I  can  learn  for  a  long,  long  time,  so 
that  it  will  do  us  no  harm  to  be  with  him.  Mamma  says 
she  does  not  care  who  I  associate  with,  if  it  is  a  good  and 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE.  30*7 

intelligent  cliild.  All  she  wants  is  to  keep  me  away  from 
the  wicked  and  ignorant,  and  she  never  says  no  when  I  ask 
to  go  to  Archibald  Mackie's ;  and  I  'm  sure  my  mother 
knows !"  and  Kittie  seated  herself  on  the  bench  beside  the 
vacant  house,  waiting  for  some  decision  from  Willie,  who 
was  still  wavering. 

If  he  should  consent,  there  would  be  a  constant  remem 
brancer  of  his  own  defective  person  ever  before  him;  it  was 
quite  enough  to  be  sensible  of  his  condition  without  so  pal 
pable  an  image  haunting  the  precincts  of  his  home.  Then 
Kittie  would  be  drawn  from  him  to  the  poor  boy,  Avho  had 
already  enlisted  more  of  her  sympathies  than  he  had  ever 
done.  He  would  like  to  please  her,  though,  and  it  would 
be  a  sort  of  patronage  toward  the  boy  that  might  exalt 
himself  in  Kittie's  estimation. 

It  was  very  singular  how  much  influence  the  child  ex 
ercised  over  him.  He  was  pettish  and  cross  toward  her, 
and  made  it  a  great  condescension  to  do  any  thing  that  she 
proposed ;  and  yet,  to  thwart  her  in  any  one  thing  made 
him  uneasy  and  miserable.  "  What  would  Kittie  think  ?" 
and,  "  Would  it  please  Kittie  ?"  were  questions  that  he  was 
more  willing  to  put  to  himself  than  to  acknowledge  to  any 
body  else.  He  could  not  mistake  his  cousin's  wishes  now, 
and  he  meant  all  the  time  to  gratify  her,  but  the  perverse 
nature  would  have  its  vent,  and  so  he  said,  very  ungra 
ciously, 

"  There  's  one  thing — the  pony  needs  better  care  than 
Jim  ever  gave  it,  and  perhaps  Archie  might  be  gentle  with 


308  ARCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

it,  and  his  father  can  mind  the  garden  at  odd  times.  I  Ve 
half  a  mind  to  try  him  ;  but  he  must  know  his  place,  and 
not  be  thinking  himself  an  equal  just  because  we  choose  to 
benefit  him." 

Kittie  did  not  care  what  he  did,  nor  how  he  got  there, 
so  that  he  really  had  the  permission,  and  before  Willie 
had  time  to  alter  his  mind  she  had  flown  out  the  gate,  and 
was  fast  nearing  the  humble  cottage.  The  workmen  had 
dispersed,  and  the  door  and  windows  were  closed,  and  the 
curtains  all  down,  so  that  the  child  thought  nobody  was 
there,  but  she  went  quietly  in,  as  she  had  been  accustomed, 
and  tapped  at  Archie's  room.  There  was  a  sound  of  voices 
within,  and  she  heard  the  old  woman  murmuring  against 
the  new  proprietor  of  the  ground  for  disturbing  her  in  her 
old  age ;  but  she  was  scarcely  prepared  for  such  a  burst  of 
grief  as  met  her  from  Archie,  as  she  entered  the  room  and 
spoke  to  him  in  her  soothing  gentle  manner.  His  treasures 
were  lying  upon  his  bed  ready  for  the  packing  in  a  small 
box  that  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  his  books  and  clothes 
were  piled  up  on  the  table  awaiting  their  final  destination. 

The  child  had  never  seen  him  so  pale  and  troubled  in  all 
his  trying  illness  as  he  now  looked,  and  his  unconcealed, 
unsuppressed  sorrow  frightened  her  so  that  she  had  scarcely 
a  word  to  say,  until  he  became  somewhat  calm,  and  then 
she  told  him  of  the  small  house  on  her  uncle's  domains, 
and  the  permission  he  had  to  occupy  it.  "  It  is  so  much 
better  than  this,  Archie !"  said  she,  looking  out  the  window 
upon  the  barren  space,  and  around  the  room  at  the  dingy 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE.  309 

and  tottering  walls.  They  were  both  very  grateful — the 
old  woman  and  the  boy — but  nobody  could  tell  with  what 
tenacity  their  affections  clung  to  every  splinter  of  the  old 
building,  and  what  a  bitter  step  it  was,  that  last  one,  over 
the  threshold  of  their  lowly  home. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE  morrow  had  come,  and  the  old  woman  knew  that 
the  word  had  gone  forth  against  her  humble  tenement,  and 
that  there  could  be  no  appeal,  so  she  quietly  betook  herself 
to  the  vacant  cottage  within  the  grounds  of  Mr.  Lincoln 
with  the  feeling  that  "  it  was  not  long  that  she  had  to  stay 
upon  the  earth  anyhow,  and  it  mattered  little  where  she 
spent  her  few  remaining  days." 

Archie  said  nothing  to  his  grandmother  about  his  own 
movements,  but  while  she  went  her  way  to  the  new  home 
he  turned  toward  the  beautiful  cemetery,  and  there,  upon 
the  head  of  his  mother's  grave,  he  deposited  the  box  of 
treasures,  not  with  any  false  or  superstitious  notion,  but 
from  a  sacred  and  loving  impulse.  It  had  seemed  such  a 
sacrilege,  to  him,  to  remove  them  from  the  spot  where  her 
own  hand  had  placed  them ;  besides,  there  was  no  hallowed 
nook  in  the  strange  home,  and  this  was  why  he  sought  the 
most  consecrated  part  of  earth  for  these  precious  relics. 
All  about,  upon  the  graves  of  the  poor,  he  had  seen  similar 
tokens,  and  had  observed  that  even  the  most  careless  and 
light-hearted  passer-by  had  never  stooped  to  touch  what  a 
pious  affection  had  made  sacred.  Some,  it  is  true,  had 


ARCHIBALD     MACK.  IE.  311 

looked  with  contempt  upon  these  simple  tributes,  and  had 
suffered  the  words  "  heathen  fanatics  !"  to  escape  their  lips ; 
but  these  same  persons  would  spend  hours  before  the  costly 
ornaments  above  a  richer  body,  and  find  in  them  no  motive 
but  a  commendable  and  proper  respect,  whereas  the  Om 
niscient  could  note  the  pride  engraven  upon  the  one,  and 
the  sincere  and  earnest  feeling  that  marked  the  other.  It 
didn't  matter  much  to  Archie  what  any  body  said  or 
thought.  He  knew  that  there  his  treasures  were  safe,  and 
he  felt  them  to  be  an  appropriate  monument  until  his 
secret  wishes  respecting  his  mother's  ashes  could  be  at 
tained,  so  he  left  them,  and  sauntered  slowly  away.  Gay 
parties,  whose  only  motive  in  seeking  the  dwelling-place  of 
the  dead  was  the  gratification  of  the  outward  senses,  looked 
from  their  luxurious  carriages  upon  the  poor  hunchback 
with  a  careless  indifferent  feeling  as  he  passed  along  with 
bent  frame  and  serious  air,  little  dreaming  of  the  great  soul 
that  tenanted  so  feeble  a  body. 

One  alone  of  a  merry  group  paused,  and  leaned  eagerly 
forward  to  give  some  token  of  recognition  to  the  lad,  whose 
errand  there  she  could  readily  guess.  "What  is  it,  Kittie  ?" 
asked  half  a  dozen  of  her  light-hearted  companions,  as  she 
smiled  sweetly  and  bowed  to  the  boy.  "It  can't  be 
human;"  and  then  they  laughed  as  the  child's  sad  face 
looked  reproachfully  at  them.  As  if  this  miserable  shell 
that,  however  attractive  and  beauteous  now,  must,  one  day, 
be  clothed  in  a  loathsome  corruption,  could  affect  in  any 
way  the  glorious  and  undying  principle  within!  Not 


312  ARCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

"  human !"  because  clad  in  an  uncouth  and  unsightly 
garment !  as  well  might  we  spurn  the  immortal  spirits  for 
once  dwelling  in  clayey  tenements,  as  to  make  a  mock  and 
derision  of  those  who,  for  some  wise  but  hidden  purpose, 
are  made  to  walk  this  earth  with  marred  and  uncomely 
figures.  Not  "  human !"  Kittie  knew  how  much  of  human 
ity  there  was  in  the  sorrowing  heart  that  was  even  now 
beating  with  a  pure  and  filial  affection,  as  the  weary  steps 
plodded  through  the  pleasant  avenues.  She  remembered 
the  deep  and  grateful  feeling  that  was  so  constantly  mani 
festing  itself  toward  her  gentle  mother  as  she  ministered  to 
him  on  his  sick  bed,  and  she  could  appreciate  his  noble, 
and  generous,  and  loving  nature,  while  others  saw  but  the 
distorted  figure  that  came  between  them  and  an  otherwise 
undisturbed  beauty.  Take  heart,  poor  youth  !  There  are 
kindred  loving  eyes  on  earth  that  beam  even  for  thee ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SEVERAL  weeks  have  passed,  and  the  old  woman  takes 
wonderfully  to  the  new  place.  She  begins  to  feel  really  glad 
for  the  change  that  was  so  terrible  in  the  anticipation.  It  is 
so  green  and  qniet  all  about  the  house — no  rude  boys  shout 
ing  in  her  ear  as  she  steps  without  the  door,  or  throwing 
mud-balls  into  the  open  windows ;  no  brazen,  neglected  girls 
to  call  her  low  names,  or  pin  dirty  rags  upon  her  gown  as 
she  walks  about  the  premises ;  and  then  every  thing  within 
the  walls  is  so  clean  and  nice — no  threatening  cracks  in  the 
white  ceilings ;  no  dilapidated  walls  to  totter,  or  worn 
planks  to  shake  at  every  tread ;  no  half-starved  rats,  stalking 
about  seeking  somewhat  to  devour ;  and  no  odious  effluvia 
from  the  waste  lot,  or  the  stagnant  pond,  stopping  her 
breath  as  she  looked  from  door  or  window.  Oh !  she  could 
not  have  believed  that  any  thing  that  seemed  such  an  evil 
would  prove  so  great  a  good.  The  breeze  came  into  the 
clean  rooms  so  laden  with  the  breath  of  flowers,  and  the 
cheerful  notes  of  birds  were  all  the  time  in  her  ears ;  and 
in  the  quiet  evening,  she,  and  the  boy,  and  his  father  could 
sit  upon  the  sill  of  the  door  and  talk  to  their  heart's  con- 
14 


314  ARCHIBALD      MACK  IE. 

tent,  without  one  noisy  interruption  from  the  rude  crowd, 
that  used  to  make  it  so  difficult  to  have  one  moment's 
pleasant  intercourse.  Archie  was  more  cheerful,  too,  and 
took  possession  of  his  little  chamber  with  such  a  manifest 
delight  that  his  grandmother  had  nothing  more  to  desire. 
His  window  looked  out  upon  the  old  quarters,  and  he  was 
thus  enabled  to  contrast  the  beauty  and  the  quiet  with  the 
sad  unrest  of  his  former  home ;  and  as  he  noticed  the 
rough  group  so  constantly  upon  the  open  space,  and  re 
membered  how  often  he  had  been  the  butt  of  their  unfeeling 
jests  and  cruel  sport,  he  rejoiced  at  the  high  wall  that 
prevented  their  ingress  into  his  patron's  territory,  and  felt 
as  if  he  had  indeed  an  impregnable  fortress  to  resort  to  in 
every  emergency. 

It  was  just  the  spot  for  meditation,  too,  and  the  musty 
portfolio  came  forth  oftener  from  its  obscurity,  and  began 
to  grow  really  bulky,  and  that  not  only  in  size  but  in 
matter. 

Nobody  would  have  thought  him  more  than  a  common 
lad  as  he  bent  to  weed  the  vegetables  and  flowers,  or 
brushed  down  the  white  pony,  or  sauntered  about  the 
grounds  with*bowed  head,  and  hands  behind  him;  but 
Mrs.  Fay  had  fathomed  the  secret  depths,  as  from  time  to 
time  she  sought  to  draw  him  out  from  the  reserve  in  which 
he  was  enveloped,  and  Kittie  knew  by  her  own  pure  and 
blessed  instincts,  all  that  there  was  of  light  and  wisdom  in 
the  poor  boy,  who  had  attracted  her  from  the  very  begin 
ning.  True,  Cousin  Willie  would  take  every  opportunity 


ARCHIBALD     31  A  OKIE.  315 

to  disparage  the  lad,  but  what  cared  she  ?  It  is  not  so  easy 
to  bias  the  mind  of  a  properly-taught  child ;  and  her  own 
heart  told  her  what  was  good  in  the  boy  and  what  was 
evil  in  her  cousin.  As  for  Willie,  he  walked  about  like 
some  evil  genius,  making  the  deformity  of  the  body  more 
conspicuous  by  the  deformity  of  the  soul,  and"  casting  a 
huge  and  ugly  shadow  over  the  lovely  home  that  God  had 
so  graciously  given  him.  There  was  a  constant  antagonism 
between  him  and  the  poor  lad ;  not  that  Archie  ever  gave 
occasion  of  offense,  or  encouraged  the  antipathy  that  he 
could  perceive  in  Willie ;  but  his  patience,  and  gentleness, 
and  intelligence,  were  a  constant  reproach  to  his  rich  young 
neighbor,  who  so  continually  wearied  his  friends  by  fret- 
fulness  and  ill-humor,  and  who  spurned  all  the  efforts  of 
his  tutor,  never  trying  to  improve  the  privileges  lavished 
upon  him,  but  deeming  it  very  hard  that  he  should  be  ex 
pected  to  confine  himself  to  books — "As  if  it  were  not 
punishment  enough  to  carry  about  a  repulsive  body !"  he 
would  say. 

Ah !  quite  enough.  This  Archie  felt  as  he  applied  him 
self  diligently  to  the  task  of  adorning  and  embellishing  his 
higher  and  imperishable  nature.  And  the  lady  and  the 
child  had  learned  to  look  at  that  only,  so  that  they 
really  forgot  often  the  outer  man,  as  the  soul-lit  eyes 
sparkled  and  beamed  upon  them  when  they  talked  to 
gether.  He  did  not  forget  it,  and  so  it  served  its  true 
purpose,  making  him  humble,  and  keeping  under  the 
majesty  of  his  spirit  that  might  otherwise  have  grown  into 


316  ARCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

a  revolting  and  self-sufficient  pride.  It  is  so  vain  to  struggle 
against  these  fetters  and  restraints;  God  knows  what  we 
need,  and  it  may  be  ever  the  mightiest  souls  that  are 
curbed  while  on  earth  by  some  physical  infirmity. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PATRICK  MARSH  was  a  cooper,  and  lived  down  close  to 
the  water's  edge  in  a  shanty  of  his  own  construction.  He 
had  taken  possession  of  the  spot  long  before  there  were 
any  signs  of  human  habitation  near,  and  nobody  had  ever 
doubted  his  right  of  ownership.  Yet  as  he  beheld  the 
slow  but  sure  encroaches  upon  his  vicinage  he  began  to 
tremble  even  for  the  meager  handful  of  earth  on  which  his 
domicil  stood,  and  used  often  to  go  up  to  Archie's  to  con 
dole  with  the  old  lady  when  her  own  little  resting-place 
was  threatened. 

Now  he  was  filled  with  wrath  as  he  passed  the  heaps  of 
boards,  stone,  and  rubbish,  and  viewed  the  preparations  for 
the  erection  of  a  large  and  noble  mansion,  and  he  strode 
hastily  on,  that  he  might  effervesce  in  the  old  woman's 
presence,  for  he  wished  to  convince  her  of  his  interest  and 
displeasure,  and  a  sober  pace  would  have  brought  back 
the  habitual  placidity  to  the  old  man's  heart.  It  was  not 
natural  for  him  to  cherish  the  slightest  degree  of  malice  or 
resentment,  and  the  very  consciousness  that  he  was  out  of 
his  usual  way  distressed  and  vexed  him,  so  that  when  he 
reached  the  quiet  cottage,  it  was  delightfully  soothing  to 


318  ARCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

find  the  grandmother  contentedly  sitting  knitting — work  iti 
hand,  beside  the  door  in  no  need  of  comfort,  if  one  might 
judge  by  the  cheerful,  happy  expression. 

"  Such  a  blessing,  Betty,"  said  he — they  were  children 
together — "  such  a  blessing  to  find  you  so  easy  and 
nateral-like.  I  begin  to  believe  the  Lord's  hand  is  raly  in 
it  all,  and  that  He  always  gives  as  good  as  He  takes.  I 
used  to  think  there  was  n't  no  place  like  your  old  'un ;  but 
it  was  n't  a  touch  to  this  purty  spot !"  and  he  gazed  about 
him  with  evident  satisfaction,  stroking  the  hounds  that 
loved  to  wander  from  their  young  master's  presence  to  the 
sunny  room,  where  there  was  always  a  kind  word  and  a 
gentle  pat  for  them. 

"  Archie's  better,  too,"  said  the  old  woman  with  an  ex 
ultant  chuckle,  as  she  shuffled  to  the  stairs-door  to  call  her 
grandson. 

Patrick  didn't  think  him  better,  as  he  noticed  his 
flushed  cheek  and  trembling,  fluttering  frame,  and  he  held 
his  hand  a  long  time  in  his  own,  now  counting  the  quick 
pulse,  now  pressing  it  warmly  and  fondly. 

"  You  '11  leave  the  books,  my  boy,  and  be  more  in  the 
garden,  won't  you  ?"  said  he  in  an  earnest,  anxious  tone. 
"  Depend  upon  it  that 's  the  only  thing  for  you." 

Archie  did  not  know  what  he  meant  by  the  "  only 
thing,"  neither  could  he  tell  why  Patrick  went  so  suddenly 
out  brushing  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes,  all  the  way  to  the 
gate ;  but  the  circumstance  weighed  with  him,  and  it  made 
him  jump  from  his  study  so  soon  as  the  least  symptom  of 


ARCHIBALD      MACKIE.  319 

wearinness  came,  and  resort  to  his  out-of-door  occupations. 
Kittie  had  gone  off  to  boarding-school  and  the  boy  sadly 
missed  the  white  figure  that  he  used  to  watch  so  fondly 
for  in  the  walk  that  led  to  his  cottage.  She  would  not 
come  again  for  many  a  year,  and  there  was  loneliness  and 
desolation  in  the  very  thought ;  but  so  it  must  be,  and  he 
strove  to  find  solace  in  his  books,  and  with  his  plants ;  but 
every  thing  recalled  the  past.  His  books  were  thrown 
aside  for  awhile,  because  she  was  not  there  to  question  him 
as  to  their  contents,  and  the  flowers  were  hueless  and 
scentless,  since  the  eye  that  loved  so  to  look  upon  them, 
and  the  sense  that  delighted  so  in  their  sweet  odor  were 
gone.  Willie,  too,  missed  the  gentle  cousin  that  bore  his 
caprices  so  patiently,  and  he  murmured  at  the  decree  that 
banished  her  from  his  presence.  "  She  knew  enough  to 
please  him,  and  what  more  could  they  want  ?"  "  That  was 
all  such  a  little  mouse  as  she  was  good  for !" 

The  "  little  mouse,"  though,  made  a  great  hole  in  the 
house,  and  there  was  nothing  in  all  the  big  world  that 
could  fill  it  acceptably  to  the  lad,  and  so  it  remained 
empty  until  the  school-days  should  be  accomplished,  save 
that  her  shadow  was  ever  there,  palpable — to  the  vision  of 
the  two  lads  at  least.  How  differently  was  she  cherished  ! 
— by  the  one  as  a  grateful  sort  of  appendage  that  con 
tributed  vastly  to  his  comfort  in  various  ways — to  the 
other  as  a  guardian  presence,  inciting  him  to  every  virtue 
and  grace,  and  sanctifying  and  spiritualizing  his  whole 


320  ARCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

being.     Strangest  of  all  mysteries,  the  transforming  power 
of  that  wondrous  and  precious  essence  ! 

Thanks  be  to  Him  who  has  so  diffused  it  over  this  lower 
world  that  there  is  no  spot  that  may  not  be  akin  to 
heaven ! 


CHAPTER   XI. 

MRS.  LINCOLN'S  time  was  wholly  taken  up  in  inventing 
new  pleasures  for  her  son,  so  that  she  had  not  one  moment 
for  the  poor  youth  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  who,  but  for 
the  benevolence  and  kindness  of  Kittie's  mother,  would 
have  led  a  weary  life  of  it  indeed. 

Archie's  father  had,  at  last,  laid  down  both  trowel  and 
pipe,  and  was  taking  his  long  rest  beside  the  dead  wife. 
The  boy  had  purchased  a  small  lot  in  a  secluded  and  ro 
mantic  part  of  the  cemetery,  and  there  he  had  both  parents 
placed,  in  one  wide  grave,  with  the  box  of  treasures  between 
them,  and  above  them  a  large  white  cross  with  a  simple  in 
scription.  The  lot  was  fenced  around  with  a  hawthorn 
hedge,  and  here  and  there  a  rose  bush  grew  luxuriantly. 
There  was  room  for  himself  and  for  the  old  grandmother 
who  was  now  terribly  decrepit,  so  that  she  was  unable  to 
take  any  care  of  the  house,  and  Patrick  Marsh  had  con 
sented  to  let  his  little  shanty  and  come,  with  good  Molly 
his  wife,  to  look  after  the  lad's  comfort,  for  they  had  no 
child,  and  Archie  was  nearer  to  them  than  any  living 
being.  Good  Molly  was  of  rough  and  ungainly  exterior, 
14* 


322  AKOHIBALD     MACKIE. 

but  within,  the  very  impersonation  of  tenderness  and  love, 
and  this  happy  and  blessed  temperament  had  gained  for 
her  so  flattering  an  appellation  wherever  she  was  known. 
Little  children  would  gather  around  her  in  the  street  and 
hold  on  by  her  apron  or  gown,  fondling  and  caressing  her 
hands,  and  even  her  feet,  as  if  she  were  some  good  angel — 
and  so  indeed  was  she  to  many  a  lone  and  forsaken  one, 
who  had  found  care,  and  food,  and  shelter,  beneath  her 
lowly  but  hospitable  roof.  It  was  n't  strange  then  that, 
with  such  a  heart,  Good  Molly  should  consent  to  leave  the 
home  that  was  endeared  to  her  by  a  thousand  associations 
in  order  to  watch  over  the  failing  and  imbecile  old  woman 
and  her  diseased  and  lonely  grandson. 

Neither  she  nor  Patrick  felt  themselves  competent  to 
mingle  in  the  youth's  higher  and  holier  sympathies ;  they 
were  conscious  that  they  were  of  altogether  a  different 
mold  ;  but  there  were  bodily  wants  that  none  knew  better 
how  to  meet  than  the  nice  housewife,  whose  skill  in  such 
matters  few  could  contest.  The  dainty  bit  was  ever  tempt 
ing,  and  the  linen  was  pure  and  white,  and  the  neat  cham 
ber  inviting  even  to  the  most  fastidious  taste,  so  that  there 
would  have  been  nothing  wanting  to  Archie's  comfort  or 
joy  were  it  not  for  the  void  that  but  one  could  fill.  "  It 
was  foolish  to  think  of  her  /"  that  he  so  oftea  repeated  to 
himself,  yet  think  of  her  and  dream  of  her  he  did,  and  all 
the  time  grew  thinner  and  thinner,  and  paler  and  paler, 
until  he  seemed  some  ghostly  shadow  moving  about  the 
grounds.  Five  years  had  passed  since  she  came  down  the 


ARCHIBALD     MACK  IK.  323 

green  slope  and  put  her  little  hand  in  his  to  bid  him  a  long 
good-by.  It  was  the  summer  time,  and  he  remembers  that 
the  old  elm  under  -which  he  sat  was  just  in  the  fullness  and 
glory  of  its  foliage  ;  the  hour,  too,  is  distinctly  in  his  mem 
ory  ;  the  dreary  and  sad  twilight,  and  the  breeze's  soft  play 
over  the  waving  grass,  and  the  hum  of  the  insects,  and  the 
murmur  of  the  city's  noise  that  came  pleasantly  from  the 
distance,  like  the  moving  of  far-off  waters.  Oh !  these 
things  can  never  die  out  of  his  remembrance.  How 
can  they  !  Does  n't  he  cherish  them  religiously,  coming 
always  at  the  vesper  time  to  the  same  spot  to  live  them 
over  and  over  again  ? 

Even  through  the  dreary  winters  he  but  closes  his  eyes 
and  the  verdure  is  there,  and  the  beauty. 

No  need  of  that  to-night,  however,  for  the  chilly  season 
has  again  passed  away,  and  the  old  elm  is  rich  in  her 
emerald  robes,  and  the  breath  of  the  soft  winds  is  upon 
him,  and  the  same  murmur  in  his  ear.  There  is  only  the 
small  hand  and  the  gentle  words  wanting  to  make  it  all  a 
precious  reality.  Is  it  his  fancy  that  at  this  moment  brings 
them  so  palpably  to  him?  Is  the  vision  of  a  graceful 
figure,  and  a  white  dress,  and  a  pure  face  beaming  upon 
him  with  the  lovely  expression  only  a  delusion  of  his  ex 
cited  mind !  Or  is  it  really  her  own  voice  that  comes  to 
him  so  earnestly.  "  Oh !  speak,  Archie,  pray  speak !  don't 
you  remember  Kittie  ?"  It  was  of  no  use  to  call  upon  him, 
the  shock  was  too  much  for  his  delicate  organization,  and 
whiter  than  the  spotless  muslin  was  the  brow  that  the 


324  AKCHIBALD     MACK  IE. 

maiden  loved,  as   she  supported  the  drooping   head,  and 
strove  to  recall  the  fainting  breath. 

O 

His  heart  heat  more  painfully  than  ever  as  the  warm  life- 
blood  flowed  evenly  again,  for  that  one  moment  had  told 
him  that  he  loved,  and  the  revelation  was  as  death.  To 
linger  upon  the  earth,  to  see  and  hear  her  continually,  and 
to  press  back  the  deep  and  springing  emotions  that  were 
ever  welling  up  toward  her.  How  could  he  do  it !  it  were 
worse  than  death  itself!  And  yet  he  spoke  calmly  and 
naturally  as  she  walked  with  him  to  the  cottage,  and 
quietly  watched  her  as  she  talked  with  the  old  people ;  but 
the  light  in  his  heart  went  out  as  she  passed  over  the 
threshold  into  the  stilly  night — and  the  struggle  was  a 
victorious  one. 

Kittie  was  pondering  upon  it  all — the  agitation,  and  the 
pallor,  and  the  overwhelming  joy,  and  a  secret  delight  filled 
her  soul  as  she  sought  again  the  tree.  There  was  no  wav 
ering  of  purpose  as  the  vow  went  forth  from  that  same 
consecrated  place  to  be  true  to  the  convictions  that  she 
now  felt.  How  long  a  period  had  elapsed  since  she  stood 
there  before.  She  is  no  more  forgetful  of  it  than  Archie, 
and  she  draws  forth  from  her  bosom  a  tress  of  raven  hair, 
and  looks  upon  it  while  it  is  bathed  in  the  moonlight, 
wondering,  meantime,  how  she  had  dared  to  cut  it  from 
his  head  as  he  leaned  against  this  same  tree  so  long,  long 
ago.  True,  he  did  not  know  it,  it  was  so  slyly  done ;  but 
nothing  could  tempt  her  to  a  like  act  again.  Not  that  she 
is  sorry  for  the  deed — ah !  no.  This  little  talisman  will  ever 


ARCHIBALD     MACK  IE.  325 

be  most  precious  unto  her.  But  the  brow  seemed  so  hal 
lowed  now ;  there  was  a  mystic  light  upon  it,  as  though  a 
beam  from  Heaven  were  shining  directly  there,  and  a  su 
perstitious  awe  crept  over  the  heart  of  the  young  maiden 
as  she  remembered  the  cold  dews  that  her  hand  had  felt  as 
she  stroked  back  the  clustering  locks. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  beauty,  and  luxury,  and  lavish  tenderness  that  had 
continually  surrounded  Willie  during  his  cousin's  absence, 
brought  no  corresponding  loveliness,  and  richness,  and 
gratitude  within,  and  Kittie  found  it  more  difficult  to  bear 
with  the  querulous,  fitful  temper  than  before  her  long  sep 
aration  from  him.  Day  after  day  he  would  require  her  to 
sit  with  him  reading  aloud  some  foolish  and  distasteful 
thing  which  was  suited  to  his  weak  and  uncultivated  intel 
lect  ;  or  she  must  walk  or  ride,  as  he  pleased,  giving  up 
her  own  occupations  and  plans  whenever  they  interfered 
with  his  amusement.  Time  and  again  the  question  would 
recur  to  her,  "  Why  should  I  give  myself  up  to  the  effort 
to  do  good,  where  it  is  so  evident  that  I  can  do  nothing  ?" 
and  then  her  aunt's  kindness  in  giving  her  mother  and  her 
self  so  welcome  a  home  when  thev  were  deprived  of  their 
earthly  supporter,  and  the  wish  to  make  some  return  for  all 
the  love  bestowed  upon  her  in  her  uncle's  house,  induced 
her  to  strive  with  renewed  diligence  to  influence  her  cousin 
to  a  holy  and  consistent  life.  He  had  so  far  been  won  by 
her  courteous  example  as  to  treat  Archie  with  respect,  and 
even  with  a  degree  of  cordiality,  whenever  they  met ;  but 
the  low-born,  yet  noble  youth,  felt  the  difference  between 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE.  327 

his  patronizing  regard  and  the  ingenuous  and  free  sym 
pathy  that  the  cousin  manifested,  and  his  dark  eyes  would 
flash  with  a  suppressed  and  hidden  fire  that  nothing  could 
subdue  like  the  gentle  glance  that  so  often  sought  his. 

Was  it  only  compassion  for  his  terrible  infirmity  that 
tinged  the  maiden's  cheek  and  gave  fervor  to  her  every 
tone,  as  she  met  him  about  the  garden  walks,  or  in  the 
humble  cottage  ?  Was  it  only  the  loving  and  earnest  na 
ture,  that  could  not  help  its  warm  and  gushing  impulses, 
that  caused  the  tear  to  suffuse  her  eye  at  every  wound  oc 
casioned  his  sensitive  heart  by  the  thoughtless  Willie  1 
Was  it  naught  but  a  generous  interest  that  led  her  every 
day  to  his  humble  home,  with  her  books  or  drawings,  to 
ask  aid  of  her  uncle's  protegee  ?  Or  was  he  inflicting  upon 
himself  a  needless  suffering,  besides  quenching  the  bright 
ness  of  that  young  spirit  which  he  would  fain  die  to  save 
from  SOITOW  1  Could  it  be  that  by  one  spoken  word  his 
life  and  health  might  flow  back  upon  him  with  new  and 
refreshing  vigor  ?  The  risk  was  too  great.  It  might  ban 
ish  forever  from  his  sight  the  only  object  that  made  that 
life  endurable ;  and  so  it  remained  unsaid,  preying  upon 
the  vitals  and  pressing  him  onward  to  the  blessed  haven  of 
rest — rest  from  all  doubts,  rest  from  all  infirmities  and  suf 
ferings,  rest  from  all  painful  labor,  both  physical  and 
mental,  glorious,  perfect,  enduring  rest ! 

He  felt  the  change  that  was  drawing  him  from  earth, 
and  rejoiced  in  it.  It  were  better  that  she  should  think 
of  him  as  a  spirit,  divested  of  the  covering  that  made  him 


828  ARCHIBALD     MA  OKIE. 

a  loathsome  mortal !  Even  if  he  could  know  that  her 
every  aftection  clung  to  him,  he  would  pray  to  go  hence 
before  her  eyes  could  be  so  cleared  of  the  mists  of  love  as 
to  see  the  hideousness  of  his  imperfections.  He  had  seen 
her  shudder  as  her  cousin's  arm  was  placed  around  her ; 
and  was  he  not  more  repulsive  still  ?  Oh,  how  could  he 
ever  dream  of  allying  himself  to  a*n  angel  ? 

The  very  thought  of  his  "  vanity"  and  forgetfulness  was 
humiliating,  and  Archibald  Mackie  shut  himself  up  in  his 
chamber,  and  suffered,  and  prayed,  and  struggled  alone ; 
and  came  forth  with  a  radiant  brow,  and  a  cheerful,  peace 
ful  heart.  He  had  done  with  the  things  of  this  life.  The 
dearest  and  best  he  had  dropped  from  his  grasp,  and  now 
it  was  so  easy  to  part  with  the  rest.  The  dreams  of  his 
youth  had  made  his  pathway  green,  and  kept  his  mind  off 
the  real  evils.  "What  if  they  were  but  transient  and  fading 
visions  ?  They  had  been  of  sufficient  duration  and  bright 
ness  to  cheer  him  in  many  an  otherwise  dreary  walk ;  and 
they  had  not  been  without  their  influence  upon  the  inner 
soul  that  perchance  would  have  sunk  into  an  utter  de 
spondency  and  gloom  but  for  these  incentives  to  energy 
and  action.  « 

No  more  dreaming  now ;  but  a  constant  looking  for 
ward  to  the  end  of  life's  journey,  and  a  steady  and  Tin- 
wearied  preparation  for  the  final  summons. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE  summer  was  unspeakably  beautiful  to  the  dying 
youth.  To  sit  in  his  easy-chair  beside  the  low  window  of 
his  loved  chamber,  and  let  his  eyes  wander  over  the 
greenness  and  glory  of  nature,  while  his  thoughts  went 
upward  to  the  Paradise  of  immortal  joys,  or  to  rove  lan 
guidly  about  the  grounds  of  his  patron,  supported  by  the 
kind  old  man  whose  tenderness  and  care  were  ever  ready, 
or  to  recline  upon  a  couch  beside  the  door  while  Kittie 
Fay  talked  to  him  in  her  pleasant  sympathetic  way,  or 
read  to  him  in  a  low  soft  tone — these  things  made  up  the 
sum  of  his  waning  life,  and  imparted  a  quiet  sort  of  rap 
ture  to  every  moment.  Mahan  Doughty — now  grown  a 
large  and  bashful  girl — came  again  with  some  simple 
flowers,  that  recalled  to  him  the  distant  years,  and  Sally 
Bunt  stood  often  beside  him,  not  as  of  old  with  the  newly- 
laid  egg ;  but  with  nice  broth  from  some  favorite  chicken, 
whose  head  was  as  nothing,  when  the  word  came  to  the 
old  playmate  that  Archie  was  fading  away.  A  great  gulf 
had  separated  them  since  he  lived  on  the  plain,  for  none 
of  his  former  associates  had  dared  venture  an  intimacy 
after  his  removal  within  the  precincts  of  the  "great 


330  ARCHIBALD     MACK  IK. 

house  ;"  but  an  undying  sympathy  made  a  bridge  over 
the  wide  gulf,  and  they  crossed  and  recrossed  fearlessly, 
to  minister  to  their  friend. 

The  imbecile  old  grandmother  played  with  the  thin 
fingers  of  her  idol  boy,  and  laughed  with  an  idiotic 
chuckle  as  she  looked  upon  the  white  face,  calling  him 
her  "gentleman,"  and  wondering  "how  he  came  to  have 
such  a  delicate  skin,  when  his  father  was  brown  and 
tawny." 

Patrick  and  Molly  discussed  the  case  of  the  sick  youth 
as  often  as  they  were  left  alone,  with  disconsolate  and  sad 
dened  hearts;  and  all  that  could  cheer  him  with  the 
words  of  a  comfort  which  they  were  far  from  feeling  in 
their  own  spirits,  were  the  mother  and  daughter,  who  had 
learned  to  look  away  from  themselves  in  every  grief  and 
sorrow,  that  they  might  be  a  blessing  to  others.  The  day 
had  been  terribly  oppressive,  and  both  had  been  watch 
ing  the  youth  as  he  lay  fainting  and  exhausted  upon  his 
couch.  Not  one  moment  had  they  ceased  fanning  him 
gently  lest  the  weak  breath  would  take  its  flight ;  but  now 
a  refreshing  breeze  was  stirring  the  locks  upon  his  tem 
ples,  and  imparting  to  him  a  little  strength,  so  that  Kittie 
could  leave  for  a  few  moments  to  attend  to  her  cousin 
Willie,  whose  demands  were  more  importunate  upon  her 
than  ever,  since  her  time  was  required  in  the  sick  presence. 

"  How  is  Archie,  to-night,  Kittie  ?"  asked  he,  as  his 
cousin  stepped  lightly  over  the  threshold,  and  seated  her 
self  on  the  sofa  beside  him. 


ARCHIBALD     MACKIE.  331 

"  He  seems  to  revive  a  little,"  said  she  ;  "  Doctor  Fincke 
thinks  he  may  yet  linger  for  a  few  days,  but  I  am  fearful  it 
can  not  be — to  me  he  seems  very  weak  and  low." 

"  I  am  quite  impatient  for  the  end,  Kittie,"  said  Willie, 
in  a  light  and  careless  tone,  "  for  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say 
to  you,  and  you  are  so  taken  up  with  this  young  man 
that  I  really  have  not  one  moment  of  your  time,  lately. 
It  seems  as  if  there  might  be  a  proper  nurse  found,  without 
your  acting  in  that  capacity." 

"It  is  my  pleasure,  cousin  Willie,"  said  Kittie,  in  a 
gentle  and  subdued  voice.  "  Nothing  could  induce  me  to 
lose  the  few  last  words  of  this  dying  saint.  He  seems 
already  to  reflect  the  glory  of  the  upper  land,  so  that  every 
one  around  is  blessed  by  its  influence.  Oh  !  Willie,  if  you 
would  only  learn  from  so  pure  an  example  to  make  this 
life  but  the  stepping-stone  to  a  better  and  higher  being, 
instead  of  taking  it  for  the  only  good,  and  giving  up  every 
thought  to  it,  it  would  be  such  a  gain  to  yourself,  and  such 
a  joy  to  us  all !" 

"  Would  n't  you  like  to  go  with  me  to  see  Archie  ?"  con 
tinued  she,  a  moment  after,  as  her  cousin  had  taken  no 
notice  of  her  appeal.  "  He  often  speaks  very  kindly  of  you, 
and  I  'm  sure  it  would  give  him  pleasure  to  know  that  you 
are  truly  his  friend. 

"  But  Kittie,  what 's  the  use !  You  know  I  don't  care 
any  thing  about  the  young  man,  and  that  it  will  be  quite  a 
relief  to  me  when  he  is  no  longer  there  to  keep  you  from 
me.  I  have  never  been  to  the  cottage  since  he  occupied  it, 


332  AKCIIIBALD     MACKIE. 

and  I  don't  mean  to  annoy  myself  with  the  sight  of  him 
now.     It  would  give  me  the  horrors  to  see  him  die !" 

Kittie  did  not  urge  the  matter,  but  she  felt  how  little 
there  was  in  the  calm  of  that  Christian  soul  to  excite  any 
gloom  or  terror  in  the  beholder,  and  so  soon  as  she  could 
get  away  from  her  cousin  she  resumed  her  seat  beside  the 
sick  bed.  She  had  a  right  to  be  there  now — not  a  word 
had  been  spoken  to  tell  her  so;  but  the  gentle  heart 
revealed  itself  to  her  in  a  silent,  yet  none  the  less  intel 
ligible  way,  and  her  own  responded  warmly  and  heartily. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  MOLLY,  I  dreamed  of  Kittie  Fay  last  night,"  said  old 
Patrick,  as  he  drew  his  chair  up  to  his  wife.  "  It  seemed 
as  if  she  was  weeping  over  a  green  grave,  and  as  she  stood 
by  it  she  was  dressed  all  in  white,  like  an  angel,  and  all 
about  her  was  nothing  but  a  barren  waste.  It  made  me 
sad  like  to  see  her  there,  wife,  and  I  went  over  the  dark 
space  that  lay  between  me  and  her  to  try  to  get  her  away, 
but  no,  she  would  n't  stir  a  step,  and  kept  stooping  to  water 
the  grass  and  flowers,  and  then  she  pointed  down  to  the 
grave,  and  then  up  to  heaven,  and  then  laid  her  white  hand 
upon  her  heart.  I  woke  up  after  that,  Molly ;  but  that 
dream  won't  leave  me,  I  keep  thinking  on 't,  and  I  'm  most 
of  a  mind  that  these  young  folks  have  n't  been  so  long  to 
gether  for  nothing.  I  believe,  Molly,  that  there 's  a  reason 
for  our  boy's  fading  away  from  us  so  all  of  a  sudden,  and 
for  the  pale  face  that  Miss  Kittie  carries  with  her." 

"  No,  no,  Patrick,  you  must  n't  be  so  full  of  your  whims," 
replied  the  good  wife,  in  a  whisper,  as  she  pointed  to  the 
half-open  door,  through  which  they  could  see  the  young 
maiden  bending  over  the  couch  to  minister  to  Archie. 
"  You'  ve  forgot  the  station,  man,  you  Ve  forgot  the  station ; 


334  ARCHIBALD     MACK  IE. 

it  is  kind  and  natural  for  her  to  interest  her  dear  heart  in 
the  sick  lad  ;  but  depend  upon  it  there 's  nothing  deeper — 
greater  -would  be  the  sorrow  if  there  was,  Pat !  Besides," 
she  added,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  there 's  her  cousin 
Willie,  they  say,  as  much  as  engaged  to  her !" 

"  Fudge !"  returned  the  old  man,  getting  really  excited  ; 
"  a  jackass  of  a  fellow  as  ain't  fit  to  hold  a  candle  to  our 
Archie  ?  Never  you  fear,  Molly,  there  '11  nothing  come  of 
that ;  I  'd  sooner  see  her  in  her  coffin  first !" 

"  But  you  take  it  hard,  man,"  answered  his  wife.  "  Don't 
you  know  that  they  Ve  been  children  together,  and  it  is  n't  as 
if  she  could  see  him  with  your  eyes  ;  besides,  he 's  got  a  pow 
er  o'  money,  Patrick,  and  that  covers  up  many  a  blemish." 

"  I  tell  ye,  Molly,  a  mint  of  gold  would  n't  make  any 
difference  to  the  feelings  o'  that  girl.  Her  heart 's  with  the 
dying  lad,  and,  mark  my  words,  she  '11  never  marry  that 
simple  cousin ;  but  she  '11  cherish  the  green  grave  just  as 
she  did  in  the  dream,  and  her  thoughts  '11  be  up  in  heaven 
with  the  absent  spirit." 

"  It  will  be  desput  lonesome  here  when  he 's  gone, 
Patrick,"  sighed  the  old  woman  ;  "  but  I  s'pose  it 's  our  duty 
to  take  care  of  the  grandmother  as  long  as  she  lives !" 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,  Molly !  We  '11  do  well  what 
we  've  undertaken,  but  I  long  to  be  back  in  the  old  shanty 
by  the  water,  I  kinder  miss  the  old  ways.  Nothing  but  the 
lad  would  ever  have  brought  me  here,  and  he 's  fast  going ; 
it  won't  be  many  mornings  that  we  can  sit  and  look  in 
even  upon  his  sick-bed,  Molly." 


ARCHIBALD      M  A  C  K  I  E .  335 

They  could  n't  talk  about  it  any  more,  but  they  watched 
the  old  grandmother  as  she  clutched  at  the  shadows  that 
the  waving  foliage  made  upon  her  white  gown  as  she  sat  in 
the  outer  door,  and  they  wondered  why  it  could  not  be 
that  she  should  go  first,  and  the  lad  be  spared  them. 
It  was  n't  any  good  that  she  could  do  upon  the  earth, 
it  was  n't  any  joy  that  she  could  ever  again  give !  Truly, 
God's  ways  are  not  as  our  ways,  nor  His  thoughts  as 
our  thoughts !  Patrick  and  Molly  could  trust  Him,  even 
though  the  dark  cloud  was  spreading  itself  over  their  way, 
and  the  sunshine  was  soon  to  be  wholly  removed  from 
their  dwelling. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  little  room  was  darkened,  and  the  still  form  was 
freed  from  all  its  pains — no  more  fear  of  the  ridicule  of  an 
unfeeling  world — no  more  struggling  upward  toward  a 
tottering  eminence — no  more  sighings  after  a  higher  sym 
pathy  than  a  narrow  sphere  can  insure — no  more  trem 
blings  and  palpitations  lest  the  desired  good  vanish  from  the 
sight — no  more  sinning  nor  sorrowing ;  but  the  quiet  figure 
lay  peaceful  and  still  beneath  the  pure  covering,  with  the 
bright  flowers  above  and  loving  hearts  around.  There  are 
no  outbursts  of  anguish  in  the  presence  of  the  hallowed 
dead,  but  a  calmness  that  speaks  of  the  hope  of  a  resur 
rection.  The  mother  and  her  daughter  are  alone  with  the 
departed,  and,  as  they  look  upon  his  placid  features,  Kittie 
recalls  the  time  when  she  met  him,  years  ago,  in  the 
scorching  noontide  heat,  and  contrasted  his  forlorn  and 
pitiable  condition  with  the  pampered  and  luxurious  state 
of  her  cousin  Willie,  and,  as  her  mother's  words  recur  to 
her,  "  Perhaps  not  a  pity  that  he  has  not  Willie's  blessings, 
dear  Kittie."  She  echoes  in  her  own  heart, "  not  a  pity,  not 
not  a  pity !" 

Oh !  no  ;  the  pity  now  is  all  for  the  high-born  lad,  whose 


ARCHIBALD     HACKIE.  337 

privileges  are  all  wasted  and  perverted,  and  could  she 
choose  for  herself  one  of  these  two  lives,  she  Avould  not 
hesitate  to  take  the  lowly  cottage  on  the  plain,  with  all  its 
sad  inconveniences  and  distasteful  accompaniments,  with  the 
exalted  Christian  mind,  rather  than  the  glory,  and  beauty, 
and  ease  of  the  great  house,  with  the  weakened  intellect 
and  the  brutish  soul. 

There  is  a  small  trunk  in  Archie's  chamber,  with  a  card 
nailed  upon  the  top,  and  the  inscription,  "Miss  Kitty  Fay ;" 
and  Patrick  lifts  it  reverently,  with  no  vain  curiosity,  and 
carries  it  to  the  "  great  house."  He  knows  that  it  contains 
many  a  manuscript  that  helped  to  dry  up  the  fount  of  life. 
They  are  all  dedicated  to  Kittie,  who  inspired  them ;  and 
it  is  a  great  comfort  to  be  reading  them  over  while  he  is 
lying  there  as  if  asleep  and  unable  to  speak.  They  make 
every  thing  plain  to  her  concerning  the  past,  and  they  con 
firm  her  in  the  vow  that  was  made  beneath  the  old  elm, 
long  ago.  It  is  such  a  treasure,  that  precious  legacy ;  so 
filled  with  beautiful  thoughts,  and  so  free  from  earthly  dross. 
Besides,  it  is  all  her  own,  sacred  from  the  world.  No 
other  eye  has  ever  seen  it,  and  nobody  else  can  ever  know 
the  secret  workings  of  the  great  mind  that  is  no  longer 
clogged  by  the  crippled  body. 

The  old  leather  portfolio  has  come  to  a  blessed  use — the 
comforting  and  supporting  the  afflicted.  Much  need  is 
there,  too,  of  comfort  where  the  wound  is  so  deeply  hidden. 
Nobody  knows  Kittie's  secret ;  not  even  her  fond  mother 
discerns  more  than  a  natural  solemnity  at  the  presence  of 
15 


338  ARCHIBALD    MACKIE. 

death.  It  is  so  hard  to  go  about  the  house  with  a  cheerful 
face  and  an  apparent  indifference,  when  the  full  heart  would 
fain  express  itself  freely.  But  harder  still  was  it  for  Kittie 
to  be  subjected  to  her  cousin's  importunities  at  a  time 
when  she  had  scarcely  room  for  a  common  sympathy  for 
him. 

She  had  walked  out  alone,  and  had  sought  the  old  elm ; 
it  was  so  soothing  to  be  there,  with  no  eye  to  observe  her 
emotion.  Why  should  Willie  seek  her  then  of  all  times 
in  the  world  ?  and  for  such  a  purpose ! 

"  It  can  not  be,  Willie — you  know  it  can  not  be,"  said 
she,  in  firm  and  decided  accents. 

"But  I  have  set  my  heart  upon  it,  Kittie,"  replied  her 
cousin.  "  You  see,  we  have  been  much  together,  and  I  am 
used  to  your  ways,  and  I  don't  think  I  could  easily  find 
any  body  else  that  would  exactly  suit  me,  so  I  Ve  concluded 
it  is  best  to  have  the  matter  arranged  immediately.  There 
is  nothing  in  the  way  but  this  funeral,  and  that  will  be  over 
to-morrow,  and  what  do  you  say  to  Monday  week,  Kittie  ? 
Will  that  be  soon  enough,  my  birdie  ?"  and  the  too  confi 
dent  youth  drew  near  and  reached  out  his  arm  to  encircle 
her  waist,  but  she  was  no  longer  there. 

"  Soon  enough  !"  What !  to  be  wedded  to  a  compound 
of  the  most  hideous  deformity !  "  Soon  enough !"  To  blot 
out  the  memory  of  the  pure  and  immortal  one,  and  to  link 
herself  to  a  revolting  and  miserable  object !  It  were  better 
to  be  lying  peacefully  beneath  the  green  earth  than  to 
walk  about  a  living  corpse,  with  but  the  semblance  of  ani- 


ARCHIBALD      31  A  C  K  I  E .  339 

mation.  What  mockery  it  seemed  to  her  as  she  stood  by 
the  silent  dead !  The  pet  name,  too,  was  almost  an  insult 
to  the  pure  and  loving  heart  that  had  smothered  its  spring 
ing  affections,  until  the  life  also  was  crushed  and  gone. 
Oh  !  that  she  could  tear  out  the  remembrance  of  her 
cousin's  weakness  and  folly  so  that  she  need  abate  noth 
ing  of  her  accustomed  kindness  and  attention.  Henceforth 
she  must  withhold  from  him  even  the  natural  sympathy 
which  his  infirmities  demand,  and  perhaps  be  forced  to  add 
another  tinge  to  the  bitterness  of  his  fate,  by  a  constant 
coldness  and  indifference  toward  him. 

Poor  child  !  the  ills  of  life  come  seldom  singly,  yet  how 
much  greater  is  the  might  that  can  rise  above  and  conquer 
a  complication  of  sorrows.  There  was  strength  for  Kittie 
in  the  contemplation  of  the  serene  face  that  was  before  her 
— so  free  from  every  shadow  that  had  darkened  it  when 
animate.  There  were  exhortations  to  patience  in  its  hal 
lowed  expression,  and  lessons  upon  the  nothingness  of  our 
temporary  trials,  and  inspiring  promises  of  the  end — that 
glorious  end  that  will  compensate  for  all  our  sad  begin 
nings.  No  wonder  Kittie  Fay  was  more  than  ever  tranquil 
as  she  stepped  again  within  the  circle  of  her  home ;  and  no 
wonder  the  wound  that  lay  deeply  hidden  was  ususpected 
there. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  COME,  come  Archie,  my  son,  don't  be  fooling  with 
your  old  grandmother.  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  Is  it  a 
wedding,  boy  ?  Ah,  yes,  I  mind  me  now ;  it  was  just  so 
when  your  father  was  married,  this  day  forty  years  ago — 
posies  all  about,  on  the  dresser,  on  the  bed — roses  and 
pansies,  and  'bundance  o'  green  stuff  every  where,"  and  the 
unconscious  idiot  touched  the  cold  hands,  and  put  her 
arms  around  the  stiff  neck,  laying  her  wrinkled  face  to 
the  youth's  cheek,  and  then  she  would  dress  his  hair  with 
the  flowers,  weaving  fantastic  garlands,  and  twining  them 
in  and  out,  amid  the  damp  locks.  It  was  thus  they  found 
her — old  Patrick  and  Molly — as  they  entered  the  silent 
room  on  the  morning  of  Archie's  funeral.  "  Is  the  bride 
ready  ?"  asked  she,  unwinding  her  arms  from  the  lad,  and 
smoothing  down  her  dress,  as  if  to  make  herself  presenta 
ble,  "because,"  she  continued,  advancing  toward  Molly, 
and  pointing  to  the  couch,  "  he 's  waiting  for  her.  'T  is  a 
beautiful  home  they  '11  have,  I  never  dreamed  of  any  thing 
so  pretty  ;  but  he  whispered  it  to  me — golden  streets,  and 
pearls,  and  rivers  of  water,  and  trees  with  all  manner  of 
fruit — 'tis  worth  while  to  be  his  bride !  I  never  thought 

O 

our  Archie  'd  come  to  all  this  good !" 


ARCHIBALD     MA  OKIE.  341 

Molly  put  the  flowers  back  in  their  places,  and  composed 
the  limbs  cnce  more,  and  then  gently  led  the  old  woman 
to  her  arm-chair  in  the  outer  room,  where  she  relapsed 
into  her  quiet  dosing  way  until  all  was  over.  Once  only 
she  looked  up  as  they  bore  the  remains  from  the  dwelling, 
and  asked  in  a  deprecating  voice,  "  why  Archie  did  n't 
take  her  with  him  ;"  but  his  name  did  not  escape  her  after 
that.  The  rest  of  her  days  were  a  blank. 

Close  beside  his  mother  in  a  green  grave  they  placed  the 
crippled  form,  that  was  to  come  forth  in  the  resurrection, 
perchance  the  more  glorified  for  its  earthly  trial.  Groups 
of  ragged  urchins  from  the  common  were  there,  respectful 
and  solemn.  Old  playmates  that  were  now  men  and 
women  gathered  around  the  coffin  and  wept  as  they  re 
membered  the  past.  Sally  Bunt  and  Mahan  Doughty 
were  among  them,  but  the  sincerest  mourners — save  one — 
were  Patrick  and  Molly,  who  had  watched  the  young  man 
from  his  infancy  up,  and  had  placed  all  their  hopes  upon 
him.  Bowed  and  broken,  the  old  man  returned  to  the 
desolate  cottage  to  minister  to  the  doting  grandmother, 
whose  only  claims  upon  him  were  that  she  was  allied  to 
the  dead.  Day  after  day  would  he  and  Molly  ascend  to 
the  little  chamber  to  spend  all  their  weary  leisure.  There 
were  his  books,  just  as  he  had  left  them,  with  one  opened 
and  turned  down  upon  the  table.  There  were  his  clothes, 
hung  by  his  own  hand  upon  the  wall,  and  there  were  the 
pictures  with  which  his  native  talent  had  adorned  the 
room. 


342  ARCHIBALD     MACKIE. 

Oh !  was  not  the  deep  affection  of  the  two  simple  hearts 
that  beat  so  fondly  to  his  memory,  a  worthy  tribute  ?  Is 
there  more  value  in  mines  of  gold  and  silver,  or  in  the 
adoration  of  a  fickle  multitude,  than  in  the  unobtrusive 
homage  of  those  loving  and  true,  though  humble  ones. 

Every  effort  of  his  untaught  genius  was  to  them  as 
wondrous  and  beautiful  as  if  from  the  pencil  of  a  Raphael 
or  Titian.  Every  object  of  his  pleasure  or  regard  was 
treasured  as  a  sacred  thing.  Even  the  withered  flowers 
that  had  bedecked  his  death-couch  were  preserved  with 
pious  care,  and  no  unloving  hand  could  touch  a  single 
article  that  had  once  felt  the  impress  of  the  now  palsied 
fingers.  There  was  still  one  solace  for  the  bereaved  old 
couple,  and  that  was  the  frequent  visits  of  Kittie,  who 
seemed  to  them  linked  in  a  mysterious  manner  with  the 
departed. 

There  was  a  real  pleasure  to  the  three,  to  speak  together 
of  the  absent  one  whose  exalted  merit  they  only  knew; 
and  the  maiden  grew  more  calm  and  resigned  from  the  in 
tercourse.  Yet  the  grave  in  the  beautiful  cemetery  was 
none  the  less  green  in  her  memory,  and  the  white  hand 
pointed  none  the  less  often  from  it  to  her  heart,  and  thence 
upward  to  heaven. 


THE     END  . 


RUTH       HALL: 

A    Domestic   Talc    of  the   Present,  Time. 

BY   FANNY   FERN. 

I  Vol.  I2mb.     pp.  400.     Price  $1.25. 


"  Every  chapter  has  the  touch  of  genius  in  it." — Worcester  Palladium. 

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Star. 

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LIFE   OF   HORACE   GREELEY, 

Editor  of  the  New  York  Tribune. 

BY  J.   PARTON. 

Elegantly  Illustrated,     i  Vol.      I2mo.,  442  pp.    Price  $1.25. 


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of  the  day."— N.  Y.  Evening  Poft. 

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sooner  or  later,  will  meet  a  fit  recompense." — If.  Y.  Christian  Intelligencer. 

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"  A  most  grraphic  and  entertaining  account  of  the  life  of  Mr.  Greeley.  *  »  »  Tho 
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tractive  anecdote." — Bangor  Courier. 

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Daily  American. 

"It  is  a  volume  for  earnest  men  and  boys  to  read  and  study." — Springfield  (Jlass.) 
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thoroughly  self-made  men  in  America." — Bradford  Inquirer. 

"  Worthy  of  a  place  by  the  side  of  the  life  of  Benjamin  Franklin." — Hartford  Religion.'' 
Herald. 

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ville  Journal. 

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young  and  old." — Phila.  Merchant. 

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Its  personal  interest,  it  should  go  into  the  hands  of  the  youcg  of  America  generally."— 
3fiddleto>cn  Standard. 


O  L  I  E; 

OR,     THE     OLD     WEST     ROOM 
The  Weary  at  Work  and  the  Weary  at  Rest. 

BY   L.   M.   M. 

I    Vol.      I2mo.,  456  pp.     Price  $1.25. 


"  A  simple,  charming  story."— N.  Y.  Evening  Mirror. 

"  The  author  is  master  of  that  magic  which  transmutes  fictitious  characters  into  real 
personages."— Philadelphia  Eve.  Argus. 

"  Full  of  adventure,  and  very  interesting." — Boston  Chronicle. 
"A  narrative  of  rare  interest." — N.  Y.  Commercial. 

"  A  very  charming  story,  delicate  iu  its  sentiment,  and  calculated  to  refine  as  well  as 
please." — Boston  Traveler. 

"  The  last  chapter,  entitled  '  The  Weary  at  Rest,'  is  a  specimen  of  not  only  real  but 
sublime  pathos." — -Boston  Puritan  Recorder. 

"  Charmingly  written,  and  truthful  in  portraiture." — Dayton  (O.)  Gazette. 
"  Calculated  to  make  the  reader  wiser  and  better." — Boston  UncU  Samuel. 
> "  Its  delineations  of  domestic  life  are  perfect ;  its  language  poetic  and  eloquent." — N.  Y. 
Daybook. 

"  The  work  abounds  with  beautiful  passages." — Portland  Inquirer. 

"A  home  book  for  every  family  ;  au  interesting  fireside  companion." — Western  New 
Y  orl.-er. 

"  A  work  of  extraordinary  merit." — Dutchess  Democrat. 

"'•'  We  can  commend  it  with  a  freedom  we  do  .not  always  feel  at  liberty  to  use."— JV.  York 
E  'tangelist. 

•"  Happily  conceived,  and  well  sketched." — Phila.  Christian  Observer. 
'  AH  shall  be  the  better  for  the  reading  of  '  Olie.'  " — American  Index. 
"'  Abounds  in  incidents  of  a  romantic  character." — Plymouth  Jtfemoy'aZ. 
"5Written  purely  and  lovingly." — Sail's  Journal  of  Health. 

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lov:e." — Peelakill  Eagle. 

"  It   is  written   in   a   beautiful    style,   and   in   a  loving  tender  spirit." — New   York 
CWUMi 

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"P'rom  page   to   page   you   are   lured   along  until   the   end  is   reached." — JIasonic 
' 

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"  tTkillfully  narrated." — Boston  Transcript. 
"  Will  find  readers  in  every  home." — U.  S.  Mining  Journal. 
'•  A  fine  production." — Boonetboro'  (Md.)  Odd  Fellow. 
"  Attracts  and  delights  the  reader." — Zion's  Advocate. 
'  •  A  well  written  and  interesting  book."— Vtica  Observer. 
"  An  entertaining  boob  for  the  household." — Boston  Liberator, 
*'  Can  not  fail  to  interest  the  reader."— JV.  Y.  Tribune. 
"Well  worthy  of  perusal."— Clinton  Sat.  Conrant. 
*'  We  cordially  recommend  it  to  our  readers." — V.  S.  Review. 

"  Those  who  were  so  delighted  with  '  The  Lamplighter,'  will  be  charmed  with  '  OHe.'  " 
— Pfterfon's  Magazine. 

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"  The  dialogue  is  unaffected,  the  plot  simple  and  natural,  and  there  are  dashes  by  turns 
of  true  pathos  and  sentiment." — JV.  I'.  Saturday  Courier. 


CONE    CUT    CORNERS: 

The  Experience  of  a  Conservative  Family  in  Fanatical  Times ; 

Including  some  Account  of  a  Connecticut  Village,  the 

People  who  lived  in  it,  and  those  who  came 

there  from  the  city. 

BY        BENAULYo 

I  Vol.     izmo.,  456  pp.     Price  $1.25.     Elegantly  Illustrated. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  most  spirited  and  amusing  satires  on  village  gossip  and  city  jrrbifm 
which  has  fallen  in  our  way  for  many  a  day." — Boston  Traveler. 

"  Itis  written  with  the  ease  and  energy  of  a  practical  hand." — JV.  T.  Independent. 

"  It  is  written  with  spirit" — If.  Y.  Evening  Po>(. 

"  Its  author  wields  a  satirical  and  even  caustic  pen." — Boston  Allot. 

"  A  series  of  humorous  and  well-aimed  thrusts  at  the  follies  of  the  times.'' — Phila.  Sun. 
Mercury. 

"  One  of  the  best  temperance  stories  ever  written." — Bridgeport  (Conn.)  Standard. 

"  One  of  the  best  pictures  of  village  life  we  ever  read." — Lancaster  (Pa.)  Examiner. 

' '  A  regular  Yankee  story — a  vein  of  humor  running  through  the  whole  of  it. ' ' — Bridgeport 
(.Conn  )  farmer. 

"  The  writer,  whoever  he  is,  has  original  fun,  humor,  satire,  and  knowledge  of  human . 
nature  within  him." — Boston  Post. 

"  The  book  is  written  with  a  strong  and  vital  pen." — Boston  Bee. 

"  A  very  witty,  very  singular,  and  very  well  written  novel." — Phila.  Bulletin. 

"  Would  do  credit  to  a  Dickens  or  a  Thackeray." — Boston  Journal. 

"  It  is  pervaded  by  a  deep  current  of  genuine  wit  and  irony." — Boston  Puritan  Record*  r. 

"  A  readable  and  entertaining  book." — Cin.  Columbian. 

"Brimming  full  of  genuine  humor  and  satire." — Peekslcitt  Eagle. 

"  May  be  read  with  unabated  interest  and  delight  from  beginning  to  end." — St.  Lc-nit 
Republican. 

"  It  has  real  humor,  sound  satire,  and  a  good  moral." — Nashua  (N.  H.)  Oasi*. 

"  It  is  a  capitally  written  book." — WaterciUe  Mail. 

"  It  abounds  in  vigorous  portraiture." — y.  Y.  Picayune. 

"  It  is  a  great  book." — Springfield  (O)  NonpareU. 

"  The  story  is  most  admirably  told." — Bock  Inland  Republican. 

"  A  rich  and  racy  book." — Woodstock  (Ft)  Temperance  Standard. 

"  One  of  the  most  readable  books  of  the  day." — Portland  Tanscript  and  Eclectic. 

"  It  furnishes  a  rich  home  entertainment." — Ft.  Chrittian  Messenger. 

"  Written  in  a  very  racy  style." — Alton  (HI.)  Courier. 

"Abounds  with  sound,  moral  judgment,  mixed  with   wit,   humor,   and  satire." — Fret 
American,  North  Adamt. 

"  It  is  remarkably  unique,  racy,  humorous,  pathetic,  and  has  many  graphic  delineation.-; 
and  thffning  passages." — Boston  Liberator. 

"A  singularly   witty,   satirical,    and  well    written    American    romance." — California 
Farmer. 

"  Buy  it,  and  read  it  by  all  means." — Athens  (Pa.)  Gazette. 

"We  can  heartily  commend  it  as  a  capitally  written  story." — Hilteaukie  Sentinel. 

"A  very  natural,  and  extremely  interesting  story." — N.  Y.  Dispatch. 

"  A  pleasant,  agreeable,  readable  book." — JV.  r.  Allan. 

"  It  is  a  pleasant  and  deeply  interesting  volume."—  Utica  (ff.  Y.)  Obserrrr. 

"  Enchants  with  a  magic  spell  that  ever  tempts  us  onward."— ImlianajKiIis  Sentinel. 

"  The  style  is  sprightly  and  attractive." — Syracuse  Chronicle. 

"  Written  in  a  style  of  charming  sprightliness."— Springfield  <3fast. ) 


THE     R  AG-P  I  CK  E  R; 

OB, 

BOUND      AND      FREE. 

i    Vol.,    izmo.       442    pp.       Price  $1.25. 


"  This  is  a  most  stirring  and  pathetic  story,  illustrating  the  terrible  power  of  human 
depravity  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  importance  of  using  the  most  efficient  means  to  counter 
act  it  on  the  other.  T.ho  author  assures  us  that  his  statements  are  throughout  nothing  but 
sober  verity  ;  and  that  many  of  the  persons  whose  character  and  experience  are  here  de 
scribed  are  still  living  in  various  parts  of  the  United  States.  If  this  be  really  so  (and  we 
have  no  right  to  dispute  the  author's  word),  we  can  only  say  that  they  form  the  most 
remarkable  group  of  personages  which  have  ever  come  within  our  knowledge.  It  is  a  most 
intensely  exciting  book  ;  but  we  do  not  perceive  any  thing  that  indicates  ill-nature." — Son- 
ton  Puritan  Recorder. 

"  The  tale  is  one  of  modern  times  and  events  ;  the  characters  and  personages  alluded  to 
are  those  who  have  lived  in  the  present  century,  here  and  elsewhere,  and  the  story  is  a  most 
exciting  one,  well  and  powerfully  written." — Boston  Transcript. 

"The  most  original  in  its  conception,  the  widest  in  its  scope,  the  most  interesting  in  its 
narrative,  and  the  best  in  its  execution.  The  characters  are  drawn  from  nature  ;  we  need 
no  preface  to  tell  us  that,  for  they  speak,  think,  and  act  to  the  life.  *  *  *  The  nps  and 
downs  of  honest  old  Davy,  the  hero  of  the  book,  the  trne-hearted  Rag-Picker,  read  us  a 
homily  on  the  fickleness  of  fortune,  and  furnish  an  example  which  the  proudest  aristocrat 
might  do  well  to  follow.  We  lay  aside  the  volume  with  a  sigh  that  there  is  no  more  of  it." 
— -  Y.  T.  Saturday  Evening  Courier. 

"    We  have  read  this  book,  which  claims  to  boa  '  record  of  facts'  by  nn  eye  and  car- 
wi'  tncss,  with  thrilling  interest  at  a  single  sitting." — Boston  Liberator. 

"  'jThe  book  is  well  and  powerfully  written,  and  the  story  is  a  most  exciting  one." — J'ort- 
IIUK'  :  Tranncript. 
'  '  The  narrative  is  rapid  and  spirited." — If.  York  Evening  Post. 

"  It  is  replete  with  incidents,  its  characters  are  natural  and  distinctly  shown,  and  the  in 
terest  of  the  narrative  is  well  sustained." — Boston  Atlas. 

"  A  good,  a  useful,  and  a  meritorious  book,  and  one  peculiarly  fitted  for  family  reading." 
-  -N.  T.  Sunday  Times. 

"  It  is  highly  dramatic,  and  keeps  the  reader  intensely  interested  to  the  end." — 1'orHanil 
I)<  lily  Argus. 

"  It  is  written  with  spirit  and  power." — American  Courier. 

"  The  narrative  warmly  enlists  the  sympathies  of  the  reader,  and  to  the  end  sustains  tho 
interest  without  flagging." — Chicago  Christian  Times. 

"  It  is  beautifully  written,  and  will  be  widely  circulated,  as  it  richly  deserves." — Chris 
tian  Chronicle,  Phila. 

"  i*.  well-planned  and  highly  interesting  story." — Fred.  Douglass's  Paper. 

"  T  ho  story  is  one  of  decided  literary  merit,  and  unexceptionable  moral  tone  ;  aud  is  re 
plete  with  life  lessons  drawn  from  life  scenes." — Boston  Christian  Freeman. 

"  Well  told,  vivid  and  excellent  in  aim  and  tone." — Cor.  Boston  Transcript. 

' '  It  is  written  with  distinguished  ability." — Boston  Chronicle. 

"  Is  full  of  dramatic  scenes  of  the  most  exciting  kind." — Few  Tori:  Life  Illustrated. 

"  A  very  readable  volume." — Dollar  Newspaper. 

"  It  is  full  of  vigor  and  dramatic  power." — New  Bedford  Ifercur;/. 

"  The  author  wields  a  vigorous  pen." — Glen  Fall?  Republican. 

"  No  one  will  read  it  without  a  feeling  of  satisfaction." — Oswego  Palladium. 

"It  may  be  deemed  the  protest  of  an  energetic  mind  against  the  expression  and  lack  of 
sympathy  of  one  class  toward  another." — Indianapolis  Sentinel. 

"  The  story  is,  in  truth,  one  of  realities  too  sadly  real,  and,  as  such,  impresses  the  reader 
with  more  profound  sympathies  for  the  unfortunate  of  our  race." — Dayton  Gazette. 

"  A  most  readable  and  interesting  book."— Fott^rVlc  Rryi*ti:r. 


DR.    LOWELL    MASON'S 
C  H  U  R  C  H      M  U  SIC. 

THE    HALLELUJAH.    A  book  for  the  Service  of  Song  in  the  House  of 

the  Lord,  containing  tunes,  chants,  and  anthems,  both  for  the  choir  and  congregation  ;  to 
which  is  prefixed  the  Singing  School,  a  manual  for  classes  in  vocal  music,  with  exercises, 
rounds,  and  part  songs,  for  choir  practice  ;  also,  Musical  Notation  in  a  Nut-shell ;  a  brief 
course  for  singing-schools,  intended  for  skillful  teachers  and  apt  pupils.  By  LOWELL 
MASON.  $1.  Do.  cloth  extra,  $1  25. 

The  publication  of  this.  Df.  Mason's  last  work,  was  looked  for  with  great  interest  by  the 
musical  public,  as  he  had  enjoyed  peculiar  advantages,  and  bestowed  extraordinary  labor  in 
its  preparation.  It  has  not  disappointed  the  expectations  with  regard  to  it.  Thus  far  it  has 
proved  the  most  successful  work  of  its  class  ever  published,  and  it  is  believed  that  it  will 
take  its  place  by  the  side  of  "  Carmina  Sacra,"  by  the  same-  author,  as  a  standard  work  in 
its  department. 

CANTICA  LAUDIS;  or,  the  American  Book  of  Church  Music;  being 
chiefly  a  selection  of  chaste  and  elegant  melodies  from  the  most  classic  authors,  ancient 
and  modern,  with  harmony  parts ;  together  with  anthems  and  other  set  pieces  for  choirs  and 
singing-schools  ;  to  which  are  added  tunes  for  congregational  singing.  By  LOWELL  MASON 
and  GEORGE  JAMES  WEBB.  $1. 

THE  CARMINA  SACRA;  or,  Boston  Collection  of  Church  Music,  com 
prising  the  most  popular  psalm  and  hymn  tunes  in  general  use,  together  with  a  great 
variety  of  new  tunes,  chants,  sentences,  motetts,  and  anthems,  principally  by  distinguished 
European  composers  ;  the  whole  being  one  of  the  most  complete  collections  of  music  for 
choirs,  congregations,  singing-schools,  and  societies  extant.  By  LOWELL  MASON.  $1. 

NEW   CARMINA  SACRA;   or,  Boston  Collection  of  Church  Music. 
This  book  is  a  careful  and  thorough  revision  of  the  favorite  work  heretofore  published  J 
under  the  same  title.    The  object  has  been  to  retain  the  most  valuable  and  universa^  lly 
pleasing  part  of  the  former  work  as  the  basis  of  the  new,  omitting  such  portions  as  expr    ri- 
ence  had  proved  to  be  the  least  serviceable  and  popular,  and  substituting  choice  tuj;  DCS 
and  pieces  selected  from  the  whole  range  of  the  author's  previous  works  ;  appending,  alsojf  ad 
ditional  pages  of  entirely  new  and  interesting  music,  from  other  sources.   In  its  present  Oji"nn 
it  undoubtedly  comprises  one  of  the  best  collections  of  sacred  music  ever  published.    •$!.  \ 
*»*  More  than  400,003  copies  of  the  "  Carmina  Sacra"  have  been  sold. 

THE  BOSTON  ACADEMY'S  COLLECTION  OF  CHURCH  MUSIC./ 

By  LOWELL  MASON.    Published  under  direction  of  the  Boston  Academy  of  Music.    $1.      \ 

THE  PSALTERY.  A  new  Collection  of  Church  Music.  By  LOWEL^L 
MASON  and  GEORGE  J.  WEBB.  Published  under  the  direction  and  with  the  sanction  o*T 
the  Boston  Academy  of  Music,  and  of  the  Boston  Handel  and  Haydn  Society.  $1. 

THE   NATIONAL  PSALMIST.    A  collection  of  the  mout  popular  aAd 

useful  Psalm  and  Hymn  tunes,  together  with  a  great  variety  of  new  tunes,  anthems,  sf  cn- 
teuces,  and  chants — forming  a  most  complete  manual  of  church  music  for  choirs,  congi lega 
tions,  singing-classes,  and  musical  associations.  By  LOWELL  MASON  and  G.  J.  WEBB.  '  $1. 

THE  CONGREGATIONAL  TUNE  BOOK.  A  collection  of  popinlar 
and  approved  tunes,  suitable  for  congregational  use.  By  LOWELL  MASON  and  G.  J.  WE  BB. 
30  cents. 

BOOK    OF  CHANTS.     Consisting  of  selections  from  the  Scriptures, 

adapted  to  appropriate  music,  and  arranged  for  chanting,  designed  for  congregational  us-s 
in  public  or  social  worship.  By  LOWELL  MASON.  12mo,  cloth.  75  cents. 

THE  BOSTON   ANTHEM  BOOK.    Being  a  selection  of  Anthems  t-nd 
other  pieces.    By  LOWELL  MASON.    SI  ?">. 
THE  BOSTON    CHORUS  BOOK.     Enlarged  ;    consisting  of  a  new 

selection  of  popular  choruses,  from  the  works  of  Handel,  Haydn,  and  other  eminent  com 
posers,  arranged  in  full  Vocal  score,  with  an  accompaniment  for  the  Organ  or  Piano  Forte. 
Compiled  by  LOWELL  MASON  and  G.  J.  WEBB.  75  cents. 


M    •  ""'  'I'll  Kill  Hill  IIIK  | 


